Thursday's Child
by Milliecake
Summary: When Connor is abducted, Angel and the Fang Gang must set aside their differences to reclaim him. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Title: Thursday's Child

Author: Milliecake

Rating: PG-13 for violence

Spoilers: Consider everything up to Ground State spoiled

Season: Season Four, set after Ground State

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with them for a while and I promise to put them back in their box when I'm done.

Author's Notes: While this story isn't exactly hot off the press, it is un-beta'd, so be warned.

Main summary: When Connor is abducted, Angel and the Fang Gang but must set aside their differences to reclaim him.

*****

Through the keen eyes of a vampire, it took several interminable seconds for the broken, bleeding body of the demon to crash to the ground, landing with a clatter of scales and snapped bones in the middle of the filthy back alley.

In reality, Angel knew it had taken less than two for Connor to fell the creature with inhuman strength and a well placed blow, and found himself inordinately proud of his son's prowess.

Chip off the old block, Angel told himself, aware he was sporting a dopey grin, but unable to hide it from the eyes of the night. As it was, two humans had been saved by Connor since the sun had gone down. Two of the homeless people that the boy had found a safe haven of a sort with.

Crouched on the ledge of the building above, Angel watched as his son approached the wounded creature with too little caution, and tensed, grin fading. If the thing should rise up, if Connor were taken unawares…

The snap of the demon's neck silenced the panicked thoughts and Angel allowed himself to relax his guard. He should know better by now, he chided himself. There were few creatures, alive or dead, that could take his son by surprise…daddy being one of them.

But Angel also knew he was the only one who held benevolent feelings towards the boy. Any other enemy would simply kill without remorse and so he found himself maintaining regular, nighttime vigils over his charge. Keeping a close watch on Connor assuaged any feelings of guilt at having thrown the boy out and also allowed Angel share in a little of his son's life.

So much of Connor's childhood had he missed. His first step, his first word, his first kill. Those precious times belonged to Holtz, a man whose grief and rage, born of Angelus' dark deeds, had led him to kidnap an innocent baby and take it to a place so horrifying there was no portal of escape.

Except Connor, the cunning imp, had found a way out, riding on the tail of a demon that had punched a hole between dimensions in a vain effort to flee the Destroyer. Yet the happy reunion Angel had envisaged never came to pass. Instead, Connor's reappearance had set in motion a train of tragic events that had led to Holtz's suicide and Angel's incarceration in the cold depths of the sea.

Angel broke from his thoughts long enough to observe Connor as he exited the alley, and rose from his own position to track the boy. He was quick, his vampire strength lending him speed, but Connor was agile and adept within the concrete jungle that homed him. And if he wasn't careful, Angel knew the boy would scent his presence.

There was a part of him that longed for that, longed for a reconciliation, but knew it was unlikely while Connor refused to accept Angel's authority over him and Angel still harboured disappointment over the boy's misdeeds. He recalled the look his son had given him when they had come face to face after Angel's release. Oh, the kid had learned to school his features, to lie with a straight face, the blue eyes, inherited from the mistress of deceit herself, void. But Angel had learned too and he could read his son as easily as a book now.

Fear, resentment, anger, all vying for a prime position in the boy's heart. Even now, Angel regretted using violence against Connor after the kid had tried to run, but he'd been angry too. Coldly furious, in fact. Still weak from hunger and the madness of the hallucinations, he'd seen Gunn and Fred on the floor, evidence of his son's betrayal of his family, of their kindness and had been determined to get through Connor's thick skull.

Angel could have shouted, ranted, and if he'd had the energy, he might have done so, but instead he'd kept his voice calm, even, matter of fact. He saw the flickering fear in Connor's eyes a moment before the boy had tried to bolt, and so was given enough time to prevent him, to slam him against the wall…

Crossing the roof top, footsteps crunching lightly on uneven gravel, Angel watched the figure below racing through the maze of LA's back alleys, and made an inhuman leap over to the next the building with little effort, allowing his thoughts to continue their troubled path.

Images of his own father, Liam's father, calling him a drunk, a sinner, a good-for-nothing, striking him when he was small, retreating to mere words as his son grew stronger, too strong to beat with impunity. When Connor had been still a babe, Angel had sworn he wouldn't become like his father, wouldn't treat his son with contempt, no matter how deserving, wouldn't strike him no matter the crime.

But he hadn't counted on Connor's strength, on the boy's deep-seated enmity. Or on the fact that Connor would be brought up in a world that knew only violence and death and hatred.

In the offices of Angel Investigations, perhaps the violence had kept the kid's attention, but Angel guessed it was his words of champions and love that had done more damage to his son's misguided, ingrained conceptions of the world.

"I love you, Connor," Angel murmured, lost in memory, as he watched the boy below nimbly scale a drainpipe and slip through an open window. Apparently, the kid had called it a night, and as a soft, LA rain began to fall, Angel pulled up the collar of his leather jacket and headed home.

*****

Crouched at the side of his mistress' throne, Golgoth's head snapped up from the plate of meat as he heard the approach. Five men in all entered the torch lit cavern, their leader alone approaching the priestess to sweep aside his cloak and fall to one knee. The rune-engraved collar around his neck bit slightly as Golgoth leaned forward to catch the words spoken.

"Baron," his mistress spoke, her voice as cool and clear as a mountain spring. "What news?"

The man that knelt at the bottom of the steps raised his beaded, handsome face, giving the priestess a charming smile. "We have done as you asked, priestess," he replied, somewhat boldly. "The trap is set, the bait readied. All we wait for is your order to lure the prize to us."

Golgoth glanced nervously up towards his mistress and wiped a stained claw across his mouth, smearing blood and drool. His mistress paid him no heed, instead her hands tightened on the arms of her throne, her pale eyes going colder still until they resembled twin chips of blue ice.

She nodded once to the man kneeling before her. "I give the order, Baron. See that it is done, quickly, quietly."

"As you wish, priestess," Baron murmured, then rose, snapping his fingers at the four men that waited, statuesque, towards the rear of the cavern. "Ready yourselves," he ordered.

As one, the men turned and exited the cavern. Golgoth shivered a little at their precise execution, recalling a time, years before, when he had been rat that had fallen into their cheese-laden trap. They had been ruthless in their capture of him, a prize for their priestess who sought out demons like himself to bind to her will.

Were it not for the powerful spell that had eventually enslaved him, embedded deep within the carvings of his collar, Golgoth would have killed the woman mounted on the throne and feasted on her entrails long before. Now, he was her slave, fit only to crawl at her feet.

Only when the foot soldiers had gone and the iron-wrought door resoundingly closed, did his mistress alight from her perch, her pale robes trailing down the stone steps as she moved gracefully into the arms of her lover.

Golgoth turned his attention back to his meal so as not to witness their joining. It hurt, quite literally, to see his mistress touched so, for her purity to be degraded by the bearded charmer, as the collar urged him to action to protect her virtue. But he could not, for his mistress had given no order, so he blocked out the sight, even as his sharp ears unwittingly caught their words.

"Valenza, Valenza," the man spoke as a sigh, and Golgoth could well imagine him running thick fingers through her golden mane. "How much longer must I wait?"

And Golgoth knew his mistress had once again denied the captain of her guards her body. From the corner of his eye, now, he watched the exchange, ignoring the pain as he strove to hear.

"Soon, my love, soon," the priestess promised, silkily. "Once I have the boy, my labours for my sisters will be done and we can be together."

"Once you have the boy," Baron echoed, solemnly and the woman in his arms smiled, the expression stripping away the centuries to reveal the girl who had once been.

She ran a fine, silver nail along his jawline. "He will be a fine champion for our cause, my love. And when I finally have him kneeling at the feet of my sisters, I will be free."

Golgoth shivered involuntarily at those words, feeling the burden of the collar about his neck grow heavier still. He was afraid now. Not for the poor, doomed creature whom his mistress and her sisters had deemed too dangerous to be permitted to run wild, for Golgoth had never been empathic to the plights of others.

But he knew that, should this 'Connor' demon be brought into the fold, his life, small and miserable though it was, might just become forfeit.


	2. Chapter 2

A light shiver ran down Gunn's spine as small, capable hands kneaded his shoulders. He let out a soft groan of utter contentment and closed his eyes, allowing his head to loll back. He wasn't disappointed as a moment later, he felt Fred's lips press against his own. She tasted of summer and peaches and that godawful herbal tea she'd taken a liking to, but the feel of her mouth over his was well worth the price.

"Oh baby, that feels so good," Gunn murmured, when she had released him to continue her sublime massage.

He could almost hear the pretty smile in Fred's voice when she replied, "In that case, you get to do the dishes tonight."

Gunn opened his eyes at that. Damn, she knew he hated playing housewife, especially now that Angel was back. Dressing up in an apron was a sure-fire way to get a bad rep in this town. Or a good one depending on the company, but that was more Lorne's scene. He allowed another moan to slip loose, this one more pitiful than the first.

"But baby," he said, giving her an upside down, puppy dog look that was sure to melt the hardest of hearts. "What with lightning girl turning me crispy critter, I'm not sure I'm up to it."

He instantly regretted his ploy as Fred's smile died a sudden death.

"Oh Charles, I'm so sorry," she said, wringing her hands together as she moved around the chair to face him. "I didn't think. I mean, of course that whole electrocution thing would take it out of anyone. What with the being dead and the-the stopped heart and the-the…"

By the stammer in her voice and the thickening of her Southern accent, Gunn knew that Fred was upset and trying to hide it. His girl was one tough lady, but there were still a lot of insecurities floating around in her big heart.

Gunn reached out and put his hands on her tiny waist, slowly drawing her downwards until she straddled his lap, her ramblings fading to silence as they gazed into each other's eyes.

"I'm the one who's sorry," Gunn said, with utmost sincerity. "You know, if I could change things, I wouldn't have let myself get zapped by Miss electric youth."

"I know," Fred replied, quietly, and Gunn was thrilled to see her smile peaking out once more.

She cupped his cheek and was leaning in for a second, more thorough smooching session, when the phone rang. They both sighed in a unison of disappointment and looked towards the offending object.

"I'll get it," Gunn offered, as Fred slid from his lap.

"Try to find some paying customers this time," Fred called out as he walked over to the counter.

"You got it," he called back, lightly, knowing how rare an event it was that they actually got paid for risking their lives. "Hey, maybe we should think about changing our slogan: You pay, we slay."

  
She gave him a wry smile which made him grin. He cockily snatched up the phone, leaning one hip against the desk so he could keep his girlfriend in sight. "Angel Investigations, helping the helpless."

The frantic voice that came over the phone quickly quelled his humour and he straightened, reaching for a pen and pad.

"You certain about this?" he demanded, feeling Fred come up behind as she caught his urgency. He nodded at the reply and scribbled down directions, before replacing the handset.

Fred's worried face greeted him as he turned to her to deliver the news. "We got a problem, a big one," he said. "We're gonna need Angel."

*****

"Keep up your guard, that's it, no! no! don't drop it now!" Angel spoke the words low and fast, and clenched a fist in victory as Connor dusted one of the trio of vampires that were circling him. He continued, knowing Connor couldn't hear, yet finding a form of comfort in the absent coaching. "On the left, on the left! Not my left! Yours…Oh. Oh, that's gonna hurt."

Angel winced in sympathy as his son took a hard kick to the ribs and had to resist the impulse to drop down and join in the fray. But he knew Connor was strong, a fast healer with a high pain threshold, and when Connor returned the favour to his attacker, sending the creature flying across the alley to crash into a dumpster, Angel grinned.

"Kid kicks like a mule," he murmured to himself, watching intently now as Connor faced off with the remaining vamp, stake at the ready. "Ok, he's gonna run, kid. You know it, he knows it. Just which direction is it gonna be?"

The vampire feinted left, then dodged right, but Connor was ready, trusting instincts honed in the darkest of dimensions. There was a blur of motion and the vampire collapsed in a puff of ashes as Connor slammed the stake home.

"Hoo-rah," Angel said, with a feeling of pride.

The sudden buzz of his pager caught him off guard and he saw Connor's dark head jerk up towards his position. Angel rolled backwards, silently damning the accursed technology, silently cursing the intrusion, and checked the number. It was Fred and it was important, he knew, or she wouldn't have interrupted his time with Connor.

Taking a breathe, he peered over the stone work to see Connor slipping off into the shadows, the speed with which he ran at suggesting he was tracking another beastie. Maybe that second vamp that had gone down but wasn't out. Angel was confident it was nothing that Connor couldn't handle and it was that surety that allowed him to abandon his unobserved vigil.

"Got to stop hovering sometime," Angel told himself, as he dropped off the four storey building to land securely on a thin strip of wall below. "Kid needs his space."

Yet as he wound his way back to the main streets of the city, he couldn't quite suppress his protective instincts and the urge to turn back.

*****

The prey was close, had been tantalisingly so for the last minute, and Connor was eagerly anticipating the destruction of the creature. He jumped over a metal container that had been pushed into his path by his quarry and continued his dogged hunt.

The wood of the crude stake he had furnished felt good in his hand, solid and weighty, enough to do the work of the just and rid the land of another blood sucking demon. It would have been done already had he not been distracted by a noise from above.

In the alley, after his second kill, he had glanced up for a moment to see nothing but the passage of air where something might have moved. The third vampire had chosen that moment to flee and so had begun the wild chase through the tiny alleyways.

But if the creature hoped to evade Connor, it was to be disappointed. As he ran, Connor could scent his prey, reeking of age and decay, and something spicy Fred had once told him was curry. The last was no doubt gained from the vampire's most recent victim who had fed on such a vile meal.

Chain links barred his way, but Connor quickly scaled them, leaping lightly, cat-footed, to the floor, blue eyes staring into the dark depths of the corridor that awaited him.

His senses were alert, hyper keen, and they were speaking to him now, telling him something was amiss. A trap, he surmised, rising from his crouch to walk forwards. One vampire or three, it didn't matter. They would all perish soon enough.

A sound reached his ears, a scratching noise, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see the shape of his wounded prey, attempting to climb the smooth wall of the warehouse that prevented escape.

Connor frowned, cocking his head, yet hearing nothing else. Perhaps he had been mistaken, perhaps the creature was simply too dim witted to realise it had trapped itself. More confident now, he strode forward, intently watching the vampire as it turned to face him, its beast face contorted with fear.

"Now," it said, suddenly, glancing around desperately.

"Yes, now," Connor agreed, raising the stake. He did not understand the creature's behaviour, but neither did he want to try. They were merely rabid parasites to be put down so they could do no more harm.

The other, his…father, was the exception. Angel did not feed off humans. Nor did he kill for pleasure. Connor knew that now, knew that his…that Holtz had been murdered by Justine at his behest. It was not an honourable thing to have done and Connor was ashamed for the righteous man who had once been his guardian.

"I said, now!" the vampire spoke more loudly, into the collar of its jacket.

Connor didn't pause, his step, even though the creature was clearly mad. He raised the stake and the vampire covered its face, shrieking, clearly expecting to become dust in the next second.

A bright light speared through the darkness, blinding both predator and prey.

"Enough child!"

Connor froze at the demand and slowly turned, careful to keep the vampire in sight. It had its face averted from the light but was grinning now. So, it had been a trap after all, Connor thought. But an unusual one.

Men emerged from the shadows, sliding down the walls with rope, dressed in black to conceal their forms. Connor couldn't tell if they were truly men or vampire or demon.

Shading his eyes, Connor nodded towards the speaker. "What is your business here?" he demanded.

A man, a human male, stepped into the path of the light, his bearded face revealed to Connor. "Our business is with the son of Angel the Vampire," he intoned and raised a hand to point a finger towards Connor. "We have come for you, child."


	3. Chapter 3

The scent of burnt rubber and the wounded groan of the convertible's engine cut to the very quick of Angel's gypsy-cursed soul. In the back seat, he could see Fred clinging on for dear life, crossbow clasped between her knees as she braced herself against Gunn's reckless driving.

"Get in," Gunn called to him, roughly throwing the car into drive.

"Uh-uh," Angel replied, quickly moving round to the driver's side. "Move over."

Gunn hesitated, clearly not happy to relinquish control of the wheel. Then he saw Angel's face and let out an explosive sigh, sliding over the leather seat into the passenger side.

"Man, I swear, I've seen actual people have less meaningful relationships that you have with this car," he complained, as Angel hopped into the seat. "I knew I should have brought my truck."

Swinging his baby in a tight arc, Angel opened her up more gently that Gunn had done, hearing her purr her contentment as he did so. He resisted the urge to pat her dashboard and gave Gunn's comment the dignified silence it deserved.

"So, what's the deal?" he asked, instead, getting down to business.

"Bunch of vamps gate-crashed a party down at the westside industrial park, started snacking on the teeny boppers before you could say illegal rave."

"Crazy kids," Angel murmured, glancing in the rear-view mirror before making the necessary turn.

Fred leaned forward, resting her arms on the back of their seats. "And speaking of which," she began.

Angel glanced in the mirror, seeing her enquiring look, knowing she couldn't see his own. "He's doing ok," he replied, after a moment, turning his attention back to the road. "Got himself a place, now. Sure, it's a dump, but it's a start. And it's safe."

"When I was growing up," Gunn said, "you took what you could get. Any place safe was practically the Hilton for kids on the street."

"And he's fighting vamps and demons," Angel added, more brightly. "Saving lives, rescuing people…"

"Yeah, the kid's a real saint," Gunn interjected. "After what he did to you, putting you in a box, then sinking you to the bottom of the ocean…"

"I know…"

"Letting you starve," Fred added, helpfully, "hallucinate, go mad for all eternity…"

"I said, I know," Angel said, more sharply than he had intended. He felt Fred and Gunn share a look and gripped the wheel more tightly to prevent himself from snapping again. "I was there, remember?" he continued, more gently. "It's not like I need a recap."

"Look, all I'm saying," Gunn began, "is that I don't think he's quite the little crusader that you seem to think he is. Kid's got a real attitude adjustment problem."

Angel didn't reply, knowing Gunn was right. Connor did have problems, but having grown up in a hell dimension, what kid wouldn't have. Despite that, he also knew it was going to be a long time before Gunn and Fred accepted Connor back into the fold once more. Once bitten, he thought, twice shy. And they had every reason in the world to question the kid's motives.

But while they doubted, Angel still clung to the hope that, someday, Connor might come around, might come to understand that the harshness of the world, its fickle cruelties, couldn't be overcome by a blunt violence lacking either love or understanding. And, deeper still, was the hope that someday, Connor might turn to him for help or call him father without habitual contempt.

"How about a little music?" he suggested lightly to the others, more to break the sombre mood that had fallen over them.

They were about to head off into battle and the last thing they could afford was an unnecessary distraction. No more talk of Connor or how the boy had messed up so badly. They needed to be focused, united, and that meant no more of the protective daddy routine.

Reaching forward, Angel twisted the dial, found a station and settled back, hoping to stave off another round of Connor questions. His satisfied smile slowly died and another look passed between Gunn and Fred as the soulful strains of the Cat Stevens song 'Father to Son' drifted out of the radio to them.

Angel raised his eyes heavenwards, as if in supplication, wondering what kind of twisted, ironic joke the Powers that Be were playing. And if he didn't know better, he could almost swear he heard Cordelia's chiding tones speaking out between the strains.

*****

"We've come for you child."

The words reverberated around Connor's mind as he ducked the blade that whistled passed his head and pin-wheeled, backhanding his attacker as he did so. As he turned again, constantly shifting stratagems against his enemies, he could see the man who had issued the challenge standing to the rear of the alley, observing.

As another human lunged forward, Connor dealt him a swift, sharp jab to the solar plexus, then swung the gagging man away from him, the body rolling ungainly across the litter-strewn concrete to come up hard against the wall. They were more cautious of him now than when they had first begun, but attacking two or three at a time, they still couldn't get in close enough to use their batons or blades.

Even as Connor turned to face another threat, a man grabbed him from behind, locking his fists across Connor's chest so the boy's arms were trapped. The added height of his attacker nearly lifted Connor from his feet as the man straightened.

Before him, the others moved back and another human stepped forward, carrying a weapon Connor recognised as a gun, a device that spat pellets of metal at high velocity and with great accuracy and would tear through flesh and bone if he were not quick enough to evade it.

He didn't need his arms free to throw off the man holding him, instead snapped his head backwards so hard he heard the man's nose break. The arms loosened and Connor shrugged them off, just as the gun-bearer fired, the projectile that shot out of its metal sheath heading straight for Connor's chest. With a snap of his torso, Connor twisted and felt the feathered dart tug lightly at his shirt as it sped passed to embed itself in the man behind.

With a grunt, his assailant clutched the dart, eyes rolling up into his head before toppling backwards. In a second, Connor was on the gun wielder, wrenching the weapon from the man's grasp and punching him in quick succession to the face, torso and stomach, before tossing the weapon aside, dismissing it as useless in such close quarters.

Though he fought swiftly and silently, Connor's mind was in turmoil. Holtz had brought him up to believe that killing a human, no matter how deserving, was wrong. Like the lackeys of the law firm Wolfram and Hart, these men that he fought were all too human, fragile and breakable, and if Connor did not temper his blows, they could easily end up broken beyond all repair.

Yet the warrior inside him chafed against the restraint. The boy that had grown up in the harsh realities of Quor-Toth, a place where foolish mercies could very well equal death, would have slaughtered without question or remorse were his assailants anything other than human.

And, though Connor could have easily evaded his attackers, taking off into the night to disappear among the rat runs of the alleyways, his pride and certainty in his strength and skill kept him from fleeing. He would deal with the ones who now fought against him, then discover the meaning behind their assault.

When, finally, they had each had a taste of his fists and feet, they backed off, bruised and bleeding and with a new-found respect for the boy before them who was unmarked and barely out of breath. The speaker instead strode forward, little different than the others in appearance, yet possessed of a grace and surety, an economy of movement that spoke of training far beyond that of those Connor had already fought.

"Why are you doing this?" Connor demanded of him, angrily tossing the hair from his eyes. "I have done nothing to you."

"Not yet, child," was his cryptic reply. "But it is only a matter of time before the strength you display so eagerly becomes a weapon for our enemy. We would claim it for ourselves, first."

Hearing their intentions to subdue him voiced by the stranger, Connor felt his hands curl into fists. He had not asked to be born, never asked to be the child of two vampires of great evil, nor to be given strength and speed unnatural to ordinary humans. "What is this enemy that you speak of?"

Could they mean Angel? If that were so, Connor would be only too happy to correct the man. Father though he might be, Angel was still Connor's enemy, a creature of darkness that lurked beneath a beguiling mask of humanity.

"You will find out, soon enough," the man promised.

Connor jerked his head up at that, tired of being baited and attacked for something he had no control over. "Leave now," he advised the leader, sliding into a ready stance, allowing a smirk to grace his features, "and maybe I won't break you."

The man smiled and echoed his movement, brushing aside his dark cloak to slowly draw a blade. He pointed one hand towards Connor, then crooked the fingers, beckoning.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Connor said, with a shrug, then sprang.

*****

"Ok, be ready guys," Angel warned, grimly, turning down the alleyway, careful not to let the wooden crates stacked against the wall scrape the convertible. "Our job is to get those kids out of there, safe and unharmed, then we deal with the vamps."

"Got it," Gunn snapped off, and glanced back at Fred.

"Me too," she piped in, brandishing her crossbow, already loaded with a bolt.

"Hey, watch where you point that," Angel chided, seeing her action in the mirror. "And don't scratch the leather."

Gunn rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You do realise that Darla's water broke all over that seat when she was giving birth to Connor, don't you?"

"It's different," Angel shot back. "And I still don't see why you didn't bring your truck."

"I told you, I'm still trying to get that damned window fixed. The one that got broke when we were trying to find you, I might add."

"Uh, guys?" Fred cut in, her hand pointing between them. "I think we're here."

"Ok, let's do this," Gunn said, opening the door to hop out as Angel hit the brakes. He extended a hand to Fred, who clasped it and jumped out. "I think I'll save me some snot-nosed kids whose rich daddies will be only to happy to pay for their precious babies safe return…father's being what they are."

Fred winced a little, turning to their leader. "Not that he's having another dig about Connor, mind you…uh, Angel?"

Angel didn't reply, but continued to stare at the sliding doors to the warehouse.

"What is it?" Gunn queried, softly, hands tightening on his axe.

"It's quiet," Angel replied, still not moving.

"Well, maybe their just keeping it down for the neighbours." As he made for the doors, Gunn was halted mid stride when Angel grasped his arm, hard.

"I mean," Angel explained, "that there's nothing coming from inside. No screams, no cries for mercy…and no music."

Gunn glanced at the doors, then walked over more cautiously, pressing an ear to the metal.

"Maybe it's soundproofed," Fred offered.

Gunn cursed and strode back over. "No, he's right," he said, disgustedly, gesturing with his axe towards Angel. "There's no one here."

"So it was a prank," Fred surmised, dejectedly.

"You think?" Gunn said, slumping down in the passenger seat of the car. "You know, I could almost smell that money."

Fred gave him a sympathetic smile and reached down to begin unloading her crossbow. "Not that you're unhappy that people aren't being killed or anything…"

"I don't think this was a prank."

The certainty in Angel's voice cut through Gunn's brooding and he straightened. "Then what would you call it?"

Angel turned to him, face troubled. "A set-up."

*****

NOTE: FYI, the Cat Stevens song 'Father to Son' was more recently a hit for the delectable Irish Singer Ronan Keating. I heard the original the other day and some of the lyrics reminded me of Angel's relationship with Connor, which led me to include a mention of the ditty in this fic.


	4. Chapter 4

The fight was furious, blood drawn from both combatants, until a lull in their battle found them observing each other warily across the small distance of their makeshift arena.

Baron, captain of his priestess' guards, bore a gouge over one eyebrow where the boy had kicked hard enough to split the skin down to the bone. Only speed had saved him from a far greater injury, turning his head away from the blow at the last possible moment. The demon child had grinned at that, cocksure in his abilities to overcome Baron and all his men in a way only one who had yet to taste the bitterness of defeat could be.

Now, the boy smiled no longer, one lip split and puffy when Baron had dealt him a lucky blow with the pommel of his sword. Too, the child's arm was badly bruised where, in his arrogance, he had over extended. Had Baron not used the flat of his blade instead of the blade itself, the boy would almost certainly now be missing a limb.

But Valenza had been quite particular in her instructions. Capture the son of the vampire Angel alive and relatively unharmed. There would be little point if the boy were to be crippled or permanently maimed, yet it made Baron's task all the more difficult. The boy was fast and strong, if rash and contemptuous of his attackers. And Baron was counting on that overconfidence to be the boy's eventual downfall.

"Had enough, old man," the child taunted, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with one grimy sleeve. He looked down then at the wetness and frowned, seemingly taken aback at the evidence of his vulnerability.

In response, Baron raised his sword en guard. As he had known from the very beginning, brute strength would not be enough to subdue the demon offspring. The child was as quick as a striking viper, but there was one more ploy Baron had yet to attempt, a risky venture that he doubted the boy would discover until too late. And if he were ever to gain access to Valenza's inviolate bedchamber, he would have to try.

He could feel his men stirring behind him, ready to engage once more in the fight, but he waved them back, much to the boy's consternation. The belligerent attitude the child held would be a welcome asset for their cause, but here and now it was nothing but a weakness.

Ignoring the boy's provocation, Baron lunged with his sword, point first, secure in the knowledge that his target would easily evade the clumsy manoeuvre. As he swung again, he allowed his attempts to become more ponderous, slower still, making the boy's speed seem all the more quicksilver. He doubled over when his opponent won a strike to his belly, and released his sword when it was kicked from his hand to clatter to the floor.

Falling to his knees, Baron glanced up in time to see a fist swinging towards his face and he closed his eyes, waiting for the devastating blow he knew this demon child could deliver.

It never landed, and slowly, Baron raised his head to look into the stormy blue eyes of the creature that stood over him. The hand that had made for his face was halted mid-strike, though by the tense set of the boy's shoulders, it could fly at any moment. And undoubtedly would after he had performed the final stage of his act.

*****

"A set-up?" Fred echoed the words as Angel strode purposefully towards the car.

"Get in," was all he said, sliding behind the wheel and starting the engine with a roar.

Fred quickly scrambled into the back and was thrown off balance as Angel reversed the car out of the alley with a reckless speed, uncaring of the crates that caught and were smashed beneath the wheels or of the splinters that scraped the dark, metallic paint work. The acrid scent of singed rubber was prevalent as Angel swung the car into a skid and braked with a jolt.

"Hey," Gunn protested.

"Sorry," Angel said, throwing the gears. "But I don't think we have much time."

He stepped on the accelerator, sending an unsuspecting Fred into another tumble of flailing limbs.

"Time for what?" Gunn demanded, bracing himself on the dashboard. "You got a hot date you forgot to tell us about or what?"

"I think someone or something wanted us out of the way," Angel explained, as they sped through the dark streets.

"So they could perform some nefarious deed in our absence?" Fred hazarded from the backseat.

"Exactly."

"Yeah, but what?" Gunn asked. "What could be so important that they had to make up some lame ass story about a vamp party and send us all the way out here just so we wouldn't gatecrash their own?"

"I know it doesn't make sense," Angel agreed. "If they, whoever they are, wanted us out of the way, why not fight us head on?"

"Maybe they think this is more funny," Fred said. "Getting us chasing around on a wild goose chase."

"Yeah, well you don't see me laughing," Gunn replied, grimly. "And if I get my hands on whoever set us up, their wild goose is gonna be pet food."

"Maybe they were after something at the hotel," Fred suggested. "Angel, you never did mention what you did with the Axis of Pythia."

"Yeah, what _did _you do with that 33 million dollar baby I got dead over?"

Careful not to look either of them in the eye, Angel shrugged as casually as he could manage. "I, uh, I kind of…gave it away."

"You did what?!"

Angel cringed at their twin shouts of disbelief.

"Well, it's not like we needed it anymore," he shot back, defensively. "No Cordy, so no Axis."

"Yeah, and no retirement fund either," Gunn grouched. "So what was it? Orphanage? Animal shelter? No, never mind, I don't wanna know. Just as long as the Lara Croft wannabe who tried to fry me didn't get her sparky little paws back on it."

Wisely, Angel kept silent, knowing the truth would only get him yelled at some more. And Gwen had been grateful. Snippy, but grateful.

"So if it's not the axis," Fred said, getting back on track, "what else do you have that's valuable?"

"Aside from a rundown hotel full of crap, that is," Gunn added.

"Hey, not everything important has monetary value," Angel said, thinking of family, thinking of Cordelia and of Connor..."Oh my god," he gasped out the blasphemy as realisation dawned. "Connor."

"You think little psycho brat was behind this?" Gunn said. "What, he gets us out of the way so he can break into the hotel and get his toy truck back…Ow!"

He rubbed his arm where Fred had hit him, massaging the sore muscle. She might be tiny, but she could sure pack a wallop.

"What he means," Fred said, urgently, "is that Connor might be the one in trouble."

Gunn glanced between the two, seeing Angel focused and furious, Fred's eyes wide and scared. "So they get daddy out of the way…" he began.

"So they can take my kid," Angel finished, and floored the accelerator.

*****

"Why?" Connor demanded again, hoping for a better answer this time now that he had vanquished his adversary. "Why do this? I am not your enemy."

The man at his feet reeled back, then steadied himself, curling a protective hand around his wounded side. "I have no choice," the man said. "My orders were to capture you, child."

"I am no child!" Connor spat back, in a temper.

He had stopped being a child the day Holtz had taken him to a remote mountainside and seemingly abandoned the frightened seven-year-old to the creatures that lurked within the nearby caves. It was at that moment that Connor had left behind the safe cocoon of Holtz's protection and entered a new phase, one in which he was forced to become the hunter, setting aside the luxury of a childhood.

When Holtz had returned for him the following day, eight of the creatures were dead beneath his young hand. Holtz had trained him well, and emerging through the fire, Connor had become as much a weapon as the sword his guardian bore.

"No," the man agreed, shaking Connor from his thoughts. "I did not believe that…until now. You will make a worthy addition to our numbers. My priestess and her sisters will be pleased by their newest acquisition."

Connor grabbed the man by the throat, hard enough to hurt, yet not so tight as to strangle the man. He leaned in close, staring the man down "I am no one's possession," he hissed, in defiance. Not Wolfram and Hart's, not even Holtz's, certainly not Angel's.

The sudden shift of the watching men drew Connor's attention and he glanced up, readying himself for another round of assaults. There came a blur of movement from the man he held and suddenly, something sharp was stabbed into his leg.

Releasing his captive, Connor staggered back, more from surprise than pain, to see a tiny needle driven through the denim cloth covering his thigh. Pulling out the thin blade, Connor stared at it, a minuscule droplet of his own blood beading the tip. A memory came to him then, of the girl, Sunny, lying slumped over the bathtub, a needle such as the one he held protruding from her arm. Dead.

Baring his teeth, Connor tossed the metal sliver aside and started for his supposedly defeated enemy. The poison might be swift, but his unnatural healing powers would slow its progress long enough for him to accomplish what he had remained for, then seek out help for an antidote. Perhaps from one of the centres that catered to the street dwellers. Or, and he shied away from the suggestion, from his father.

Features contorted in childlike fury, Connor grabbed the treacherous human by his collar and jerked him forward. He raised his fist, only to be halted by the next words.

"No point, child," the man murmured, softly. "It is done."

Even as Connor heard the words, the chill of the poison raced through his bloodstream, unfurling frozen wings within his body to wrap tightly, suffocatingly around his heart.

Air failed as the beat of Connor's lungs grew lethargic, stuttered, and a sweeping sense of vertigo overcame him, the ground spinning a dizzying space below. His senses swam and his eyesight narrowed to a tunnel as the poison swiftly did its dark work. His lifeless hand was plucked from where it grasped the man's shirt and his balance left him in a rush.

It is not possible, Connor thought, as, from a far off place, he felt his limbs fold gracefully beneath him, the cold embrace of the concrete seeping through the bare skin of his cheek as he was laid down. In Quor-Toth, he had been immune to such dark magicks.

A shadow loomed over him, blotting out what little light came from the moon above, the sound of many booted feet drawing closer. Then, with a sigh, Connor lost the fight and succumbed to the beckoning darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

Unfolding himself from behind the relative safety of a dumpster, Sammy dusted off the grime as best he could, curling his upper lip in distaste. He still couldn't get his head around how he'd gone from being a hot shot dealer in New Orleans to a down beat vampire living in the slums of Los Angeles.

Because of the sweet little number that sired you, you idiot, he chided himself as he stepped out of the shadows, tugging the concealed wire loose from his collar and tossing it carelessly over one shoulder.

They had the kid down now, and Sammy knew that he and the other deadbeats that fed off the homeless, the drunks and the junkies, would get the breathing space they needed. Figuratively speaking, of course. Damn, he still couldn't get used to that, especially when it made smoking a joint all the more difficult.

Big, bad and mean was wiping blood from his hands and forehead with a handkerchief and Sammy unconsciously licked his lips at the sight, wanting a taste even though satiated from an earlier feed.

Put 'em away, Sammy, he warned himself, trying to get a hold on his killer's instincts. Losing it in front of a dozen highly trained demon hunters was a sure-fire way to get staked, so with an effort, he forced his elongated canines to shrink a little and slipped on his human disguise with the same casual air as putting on a hat.

"Do him no harm," Baron was ordering his men, speaking of the kid as they took him away. "We have sacrificed much tonight in order to bring him untouched before the priestess."

Shame that, Sammy thought, as delicious images of prolonged torture and eventual death ran through his devious, dead brain. The little murderer could do with a beating after the damage he'd done to vampire kindred throughout LA. Maybe flay the brat alive, put out those baby blues, cut off a limb here and there…

Stop droolin', idiot, he told himself, before they stake your lousy hide. "Uh, guys?" he queried aloud, moving to stand on the fringes of their little group. "Just wanted to say…great job." He gave them a thumbs up and a wide grin.

They ignored him, attending instead to their wounded and gathering up evidence of their illicit operation. Their leader, Baron, bent down to retrieve his sword, running a hand the length of the shining blade.

Sammy gulped and moved back, putting some distance between them. "Ok, then," he rambled, getting ready to run at the first hint of trouble. "Well, it's been a pleasure working with you and all. Hope to do it again some time."

To Sammy's relief, the human sheathed his sword, the blade sliding with a whisper of steel into the scabbard and took it as his cue to depart.

"So, maybe I'll catch up with you guys later then," he murmured, sidling along the wall, allowing his disguise to slip a little. It was as much a threat as he dared, thinly veiled and certainly not wise, but hello, he was a vampire with a reputation to uphold.

He began to edge passed the men, then saw Baron eyeing him with a strange gleam, hefting the kid's discarded stake in one hand.

"Crap," Sammy hissed and turned to run, unnatural speed carrying him to the chain link fence in a matter of seconds.

In one smooth, fluid motion, Baron twisted and threw the stake, the weapon tumbling over and over through the air.

Sammy felt the punch, the penetration and glanced down to see the sharp point of the stake poking through his favourite shirt, speared straight through his heart. He had time to utter a final, "Oh, sh…" before collapsing in a messy explosion of dust.

*****

Footsteps sprinted through the night, the first fast and tireless, the other two lagging behind. There was no chance of Gunn and Fred keeping up with their leader as Angel followed Connor's trail with unerring precision and silent desperation through the tiny alleyways, yet they still tried.

"Man," Gunn gasped, panting heavily, "I gotta…stay off…those cheeseburgers."

Fred's arm was wrapped around her middle and she nodded, struggling to stay with Gunn. "Me too. Where's…Angel?"

"Don't know. Lost him a while back," he answered, shortly.

They tapered off, knowing that whatever Angel had gone to face, he was going to do it alone. Fred paused and bent double, trying to catch her breath while Gunn waited, axe at the ready, keeping watch should any nasties try to jump them.

"We should keep moving," he advised, taking Fred's hand, and she allowed herself to be pulled along.

"Do you think…Connor's really in trouble?" she asked, quietly.

"With his track record, it's anyone's guess," Gunn replied. "And we both know he's been trying to catch Angel with his soul down since the kid came back from Quor-Toth. I just wish Angel could see that."

"He does," Fred said, in a small voice. "But maybe he's looking for other things too. Things only a father can see."

Gunn glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow. "You've sure changed your tune. I seem to recall the words 'corporal punishment with a large, heavy mallet' not so long ago."

She gave him a smile and squeezed his hand. "I haven't forgotten. But Angel's dealing with it in his own way. We have to respect that. Besides, I think Wesley was right, Connor wouldn't have hurt us."

She missed the way Gunn's face grew cold at the mention of their former colleague. "Come on," was all he said, and tugged her along.

*****

Angel slowly sank to his haunches, hands folded between his knees as he contemplated the evidence. Vampire dust, along with the stake Connor had carried earlier that night lying neatly on top. The alley was a dead end, no way for anything to scale the walls beyond, not a vampire, not even Connor. Yet the trail ended here, of that Angel was certain.

He rose and moved away from the chain link towards the enclosed space beyond. There were strange smells all around, of men, of human sweat and blood and fear. Looking at the scuffed ground, a fight had taken place, yet everything was clean. Too clean, as if someone had meticulously mopped up afterwards.

Angel moved to the centre, spreading his hands, using his enhanced abilities to judge how the fight had gone. A single person, Connor, had stood his ground here. Men, many of them, had attacked him, but he had held his own, had remained standing. Until…

A clatter drew his attention, but he didn't need to turn to see who it was. His senses tuned so acutely, he could hear not only Gunn and Fred's breathing, but the rapid beats of their hearts.

"It's a dead end," Fred said, unnecessarily, as Gunn kicked at the vamp dust.

"Any sign of Connor?" he asked Angel.

Angel shook his head, hunkering down once more at the spot where Connor had fell. "He was here."

Gunn glanced pointedly at the ashes once more. "I get that. So, Connor dusted this guy then took off, right?"

Angel didn't reply, reaching out a hand to touch the cold concrete. Think, dammit, he cursed himself, running over and over the scene within his mind's eye, witnessing Connor fight off his attackers. He had fought enough battles himself to know how it would have played out.

Yet one thought continued to trouble him. How could someone as strong, as quick as his son be taken down? Connor had proven his worth in Quor-Toth, earning the name of Destroyer. And later still, in the first moments of his return, he had taken on three men, all with skills above those of normal humans.

So how? And, more importantly, who?

A list ran through his mind, but his thoughts kept straying, refused to keep focused on the mission. Had Connor been scared? Had 'they' hurt him? The kid had only been in this world for three months, enough time to pick up some street talk, learn about road safety and pizza and TV, but not much else. And if something had happened to him, if he were…

Angel bit his lip, knowing that if Connor were truly dead, it would be a burden that would torment him for the rest of his immortal life.

"I never should have thrown him out."

He didn't realise he had spoken aloud until he heard Fred's voice.

"Angel, you had no choice."

"Sure I did," he retorted, angry, furious, all of a sudden. With himself, with Holtz, with Connor. Dammit, he could smell his own son's blood! He jumped to his feet, began to pace. "I could have let him stay, tried to work things out. But no." Fred and Gunn's worried looks only hardened his conviction. "All his life, he'd been manipulated by Holtz, conditioned to believe that I was the enemy. So why was I so surprised when he…"

Angel stopped pacing and fell silent, anger draining as he refused to give voice to that terrible deed, the one that continued to haunt him. The one that, during his darkest moments, made him doubt, made him wonder whether anything was real, made him think that, maybe, he was down there still, dreaming with the fishes.

Instead, he raised his head to the night sky, wishing somehow that Cordelia were with him still, his grounding force, his guiding light. She'd know exactly what to do, to say, but the silence that answered him gave no comfort, no peace.

"Too late," he murmured, then realised with a pang that he had unwittingly echoed the words Connor had spoken to him that fateful night when the girl, Sunny, had O.D in the squatters' bathroom.

Why was he always too late? Too late to save his baby son from Holtz, too late to tell Cordelia how he really felt…

"Look, the sun will be coming up soon," Gunn said, cutting off his brooding thoughts. "Why don't we head back to the hotel, come up with a plan? I mean, for all we know, Connor might be safe and well."

It was a painful hope and one that Angel couldn't afford to indulge in. "He's not."

"How do you know…?"

"I just know." Their doubtful looks made him add, "I'm his father. I just know."

Fred moved forward, thumbs jammed into the back pockets of her jeans, and Angel, attuned to body language, knew she wasn't convinced. But that was ok.

"Still," she said, "I think going back to the hotel might be a good idea. I've still got that list of Connor's enemies. True, he was a baby then, but it might help."

Angel nodded, conceding there was little he could do now. The trail was cooling and growing frostier by the minute. His only hope of finding Connor was now in the hands of his friends, and his own investigative skills.

He had started to walk away when something bright caught his eye. Puzzled, he reached down and picked up the dart, turning it back and forth, scenting something medicinal, and something else, something that brought the raging anger back in a flash. Dark magic.


	6. Chapter 6

Footfalls paced back and forth, back and forth, each step carefully measured, pausing at one end of the cage to turn and repeat. Even as he prowled his enclosure, Connor never once took his eyes from the guard at the door, well out of reach beyond the thick bars that trapped him inside his pathetic jail.

To his credit, the guard had withstood the scrutiny unflinchingly, but now the strain was beginning to tell. Connor observed a trickle of sweat as it carved a path down the side of the man's face and allowed a cool smile to curve his lips.

The guard shifted at that, gripping the staff planted at his side more tightly, gaze darting nervously away from the spot somewhere on the wall to meet Connor's eyes, then jerking back again.

It was only a matter of time before he broke, Connor knew, resuming his silent stalking. Discomfort first, then anger. Maybe angry enough to approach, to get too close. Close enough for Connor to reach him through the bars and…

The fledgling plan died a premature death as the door to the cavern swung open. Connor cursed the distraction even as he welcomed the familiar sight of the man that entered. Here was something he knew, his opponent, his enemy, the trickster that had brought him to a caged end.

Connor stopped his pacing, standing to face the man, folding his arms across his chest in a gesture of defiance.

The man grinned at that, then stepped aside to allow something bright to enter, something golden beneath the firelight that flickered on the walls of the dark cavern.

A woman glided passed, cool and haughty, chin raised, feet delicately picking their way over the uneven floor to prevent her pale robes from being soiled by the dirt. She was beautiful, Connor acknowledged, but he knew much of beauty, enough to be wary of it. Not everything in Quor-Toth had been ugly, but, underneath, it had all been evil.

Connor's gaze was drawn suddenly to the woman's side, where something big and black ambled on all fours. In a shattering contrast to the woman, here was something monstrous and terrible indeed, something that was at least honest in this place. Amber eyes watched Connor, unblinking, clocking him as a predator did its prey. A mouth full of sharp canines drooled profusely, a black, forked tongue swiping out to wipe the excess saliva away.

"You have done well."

Connor's eyes darted back to the woman as she spoke. The man, the trickster, came instantly to her side and they both turned their attentions to their prisoner.

Connor forced himself not to fidget under their scrutiny, holding both their stares. It was a game he had so recently played with the guard, and a valuable lesson Holtz had taught him. A mongoose should never take it eyes from the snake, the older man had warned, grimly, confusing Connor with the strange beast names. But in Quor-Toth, he had learned quickly that he was the mongoose and every dark and filthy thing that crawled there the snake.

"Arrogant." The woman spoke the word approvingly. "But no more difficult that the others I have tamed."

Blues eyes flashed in indignation at that, and Connor felt his fingers curl in fury.

"Strong," she continued, running her eyes boldly the length of Connor's frame. "And appealing. Much like his father in that regard."

Now Connor did move, unfolding his hands to stand rigidly at the mention of Angel. The reflex denial, _he's not my father_, was on the tip of his tongue, enticing him to speak, but he was determined not to give them a word. Not a single one.

Cool azure met with furious agate as Connor attempted to stare her down, but his efforts seemed only to amuse her. Which infuriated him all the more.

"When the sun has set on the morrow, Baron, it will be done," she told the man at her side, giving Connor both a name and a shiver of fear before he brutally crushed the weak and traitorous emotion. "My power will reach its zenith by then."

A day then, Connor reckoned. He had a day to escape whatever these people had planned for him. But whatever their scheme, Connor knew they would have to let him out of his cage first and foremost. And when they did, they would not live long enough to regret their misjudgement in doing so.

"As you command, priestess," Baron said, bowing his head as the woman swept passed him, tugging on the collar and chain that bound the creature to her side.

"Come, Golgoth."

Connor watched her and her pet leave, a tiny frown on his face. How could a woman as small as she keep such a monster at her beck and call without it tearing her throat out? Magic, a voice whispered disgustedly at the back of his mind. Holtz had warned him of conjurers, of their wiles and tricks, cowards that relied on dark arts to overcome their enemies without honour or fairness.

His gaze travelled quickly to that of the man, Baron, who watched him with dark, unreadable eyes. Unlike the woman, Connor was uncomfortable under this one's gaze, yet he raised his chin in mute rebellion, refusing to show any weakness.

Baron turned to observe the priestess as she departed, then nodded towards the creature that crawled at her feet. "That will be your place, soon enough, child," he told Connor, matter-of-factly.

Connor jerked back at that, felt his lips curling as he bared his teeth in his fury. "No," he snarled, then cursed himself for giving them that single word he had denied them until now.

He took a single step back from the bars and slumped down on the wooden bunk behind him, putting his back to the wall and bringing his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly about them. Effectively cutting himself off from his captors.

Baron smiled, knowingly, then left, barking out a sharp order to the remaining guard as he did so. Sullenly, Connor watched him leave through the hair that had fallen over his eyes. There was something not right about the man, something that raised his hackles and the fine hairs on the back of his neck.

He would find out soon enough, he decided, with a mental shrug, when he cut the man open.

*****

"Ok, thanks, man." Gunn replaced the receiver with a sigh and negative shake of his head to Angel.

Angel resumed his determined pacing, as if somehow the ritualistic act could help find his son. Gunn's contacts had nothing. Lorne was in Vegas, still incommunicado. That only left…

"Got it!" Fred called out, emerging from the office, carrying a sheet of paper. "I knew I had it somewhere," she continued, spreading it out on the counter. "It's just, you know how you put things somewhere to keep them safe and then for the life of you, you can't remember where you put them in the first place…"

"Fred," Angel said, loudly, cutting off her diatribe.

"Sorry," she apologised, sheepishly, then read out the list of demons and cults who had been intent on taking Connor as a baby. "And lastly, we've got Frank," she finished.

"The mobster who died last month in a shoot out with the police," Gunn added. "In other words, we got nothing." Something in his own words rang a bell and he straightened. "Wait a minute. What about that drug dealer Connor got in trouble with when he first came back?"

"Tyke?" Angel said, considering then dismissing the idea. That kind of scum wouldn't have the resources needed to take Connor down the way he had been. Tyke, like all his cowardly kind, would have used a gun.

Angel pushed away from the counter, needing to move, to pace, to do something. Grabbing his coat from its hook, it was time to make the rounds.

"Fred," he called, as he crossed the lobby, "keep working on those lists. Concentrate on anyone who might have the resources to use dark magic. Gunn, I want you to dig up anything you can on vampires and demons living in the area where Connor disappeared. They might have seen something and we can shake them down later."

"On it," Gunn replied, shortly, reaching for the phone.

"What are you going to do?"

Fred's voice halted Angel as he rounded the corner and he paused, put his head back round. "Whatever I have to," he said, as much a promise to himself as to Connor, then headed for the sewers.

*****

Draping one arm carelessly over her head, Lilah Morgan, director of the most powerful law firm in Los Angeles, heck the world, snuggled deeper into the cushions, attempting to create the most wanton look a woman had ever possessed. She knew she was beautiful, hell she was gorgeous, but with things between her and Wesley so delicate, she didn't want to leave anything to chance.

With her other hand, she smoothed down the red negligee, fingers toying with the lace, picturing, with a smile, Wyndham-Pryce's face when he came home to find her lying on his couch. A present, prettily wrapped up for him in the form of the evil lawyer bitch queen of Wolfram and Hart. He wouldn't be able to resist and she chuckled throatily at that.

"Very nice," a voice drawled from the doorway, and Lilah bolted upright, hands instinctively flying to cover herself.

__

Who are you trying to kid? she asked herself, disgustedly, abandoning the attempt at preserving her dignity. _You're hardly a virgin on prom night, Lilah._

She swung her legs over the edge of the couch, giving the intruder an annoyed look. "Shouldn't you wait to be asked inside?" she demanded, reaching out for the scotch she had poured earlier. Wesley didn't seem to be drinking the stuff much lately, she mused, as she tilted her head and threw back a quick shot, feeling the familiar, welcome burn of the alcohol.

"Don't need to," Angel replied, closing the door behind him. "All I need is the one invite, unless you retract that invite with magic. And I know that's not exactly a priority on Wesley's to do list, what with you being top and all."

"Actually, I meant for courtesy's sake," she sniped back. Normally she loved sparring with Angel, the hopeless do-gooder, but now wasn't a good time. Rising, she reached for the pale blue robe draped over the back of the couch.

"Surely not on my account, Lilah," Angel said, as she pulled it on.

"Don't flatter yourself," she shot back, as she cinched it tightly about her waist. "So, you're here to see Wesley, huh? Funny that, I thought you two were mortal enemies. He certainly seems to think so."

Angel didn't pause at that, cheap shot though it was, but wandered over to the bookcase. "Actually, I _am _here to see Wesley, but I figured I might catch you here as well." He threw a pleasant smile over one shoulder, one that raised goosebumps along her bared arms. "Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak."

"Whatever it is you want," Lilah said, folding her arms, "forget it. We're even now and I'm done doing your good work."

"Even?" Angel seemed to think the word over, then shrugged, turning his attention back to the books. "Connor's missing."

Lilah blinked at the sudden confession, taken aback. She had thought that, after everything she had seen and done, nothing could surprise her, but this was one hell of a shock. When she got back to Wolfram and Hart, heads were going to roll for it. Quite literally.

"At first, I thought it was you," Angel said, casually, turning to her. "But then, even you wouldn't be that stupid, Lilah. You know I'd kill you in a second."

Unthinkingly, Lilah's hand moved to her throat, recalling the way he had grabbed her, so quickly, in the White Room of the law firm, and knew that, were he to kill her, she'd never see it coming. Unless he wanted her to.

"So I had this idea," Angel continued, giving her that creepy smile once more, "to track down all of Connor's enemies, all of _my _enemies, see if anything shook loose. But then I had an even better idea." He moved in closer and she forced herself not to back away, not to be intimidated. "I decided I'd let you find them instead, counsellor."


	7. Chapter 7

Careless laughter bubbled upwards in both amusement and relief. Lilah smiled, heady with the feeling of power, of being in control for once during these bouts. Angel had nothing on her, they both knew it, which meant he was asking her, the enemy for what would turn out to be a very costly favor indeed.

"Why should I help you?" she demanded, brazenly, placing her hands on her hips.

Angel continued to study her in that deeply intense, unnerving way of his and some of her bravado deserted her. Was it possible he had some trick up his sleeve, something she couldn't anticipate?

"Well," he began, "since you killed Linwood, who as you know was Connor's Godfather, I guess that now makes you Godmother to my son."

Lilah snorted at that. Was that the best he could do? If so, she was disappointed. "Yeah, well I'm not waving my magic wand so your kid gets to go to the ball."

She turned her back to him, then gasped as he grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her round to face him.

"But you see, Lilah," he assured her, "that's exactly what you're going to do. You're gonna wave your magic wand, or in this case, your cell phone and get me some answers. Now."

"Don't you threaten me," she hissed, jerking her arm out of his grip.

"Oh, I'm not threatening you, Lilah."

Angel's voice was so cold, so chilling, she actually felt a shiver and wondered, not for the first time, just how deeply Angelus, with all those myriad cruelties and mind games, was buried beneath that soul. Not much, by the sound of it.

"You see," Angel continued, "I know you've got plans for me. Plans for Connor too. Evil, nasty plans. But they're not gonna happen unless Wolfram and Hart pulls out its finger and gets to work to find my son. Because you see Lilah, if something bad happens to Connor, then I might just have to go all vengeancy and kill whomever has him. And once I've started, I might not stop there." He paused, gave the pale column of her throat a considering look, then raised his eyes back to her own, now uncertain ones. "I guess that would kind of screw up your plans now, wouldn't it?"

Lilah didn't reply, but gave him a narrow, shrewd glare. He was right, the cocky bastard. They couldn't afford to let Angel, or his demon spawn for that matter, wind up dead over such a petty matter. Or even leave the brat in the hands of these soon to be dead kidnappers. There was the bigger picture to consider and Linwood had lost his head exactly because he had failed to do so.

Angel must have sensed her acquiescence because he stepped back and turned to leave. Either that or he was one certain son of a bitch when it came to her priorities.

"What, no gloating?" Lilah called after him, in spite.

"Don't take too long," he called back, not even bothering to turn.

"Damn you," she whispered, then snatched up the phone, furiously punching in the number. "Yeah, it's me. I need information, pronto." She allowed herself a nasty smile. Might as well take some of her bad mood out on the staff. "Oh and Gavin? If you don't have it for me within the next hour, you're fired. And we both know how ugly that can get."

*****

A swirl of pale robes sent Golgoth scuttling for the shadows of the room, cowering miserably in the corner as the bearded charmer lifted the priestess into his arms and spun, both of them laughing.

"We've done it." His mistress sounded breathless, giddy with power. "We've finally done it my love. After tonight, we shall be free."

The sound of their kiss, chaste though it was, closed Golgoth's eyes, and he twitched, wanting nothing more than to sink his teeth into the man, to bathe in his blood, to protect his mistress from his deceitful wiles. But he could not.

"You seem troubled, my love," the priestess said, at last. "Your eyes…they are sorrowful, not joyous."

The man, Baron, lowered her to her slippered feet, kissed the palm of her hand. "I am both, Valenza. It is just…he is so young. Little more than a child."

"He is a demon," she countered, cupping his cheek with her hand. "The child of two vampires. Nothing pure could come from such a union, nothing good. And more than that, he is strong and quick and skilled, a fine champion. One who will take your place here, working tirelessly for my sisters' cause."

"And what of his father, this vampire with a soul that I have heard much of? He will not be best pleased to discover that we have stolen his child from him."

Valenza smiled reassuringly. "Angel does not want the boy. He threw him onto the streets, left him to the tender mercies of this city and the dark creatures it houses. Trust me, the vampire will give us no trouble."

"Then all is well?"

"All is well," she promised, and once more Golgoth cringed back from their tenderness, their joining. "Now, you must go my love. I have much to prepare for tonight's ritual."

"As you command, priestess." With a final kiss of her hand, he bowed, then swept out of the room.

Valenza sighed, then turned, seemingly surprised to see Golgoth lurking in the shadows. A look of irritation crossed her delicate features. "I bid you gone, creature," she commanded, pointing at the door. "I neither want nor wish your foul countenance in my presence."

Like a whipped cur, Golgoth slunk from her sight, creeping out, already pining for his mistress in her absence no matter how cruelly she treated him. It was the fault of this other, he decided, this Connor creature, that his place at her side was now in jeopardy.

With a final, longing glance at the closed door, Golgoth set off down the corridor. He would visit this Connor, take his measure. Then make certain that the priestess would have no use for him.

*****

Inflagrante delicto, Angel mused as he watched Lilah leave the apartment, stuffing something red and lacy into her purse. He could smell Wesley on her, could smell the pungent scent of sex, raw and animalistic.

It was baffling, he conceded. Angelus had been something of a student when it came to human nature, a decided genius that had developed over a hundred and fifty years spent observing their rituals, their loves, their hates, the sum of their petty lives. He had used that to his advantage, to enhance the cruelties he inflicted, to damage and wound psychologically as much as physically. It was why he had been so feared.

Like his demon self, Angel too had borne witness to the trials of human kind, coming to believe that he understood many of their motivations, yet Wesley's continued dalliances with Lilah was puzzling.

For someone as uptight as Wesley, a casual affair just didn't seem in character. But then, neither had stealing Angel's baby son right from under daddy's nose. So what was it about Lilah that appealed to Wes? And more importantly, what was it that Lilah saw in Wesley that made her hell bent on turning him to the dark side?

Lilah had slipped off down the stairwell by now and Angel shrugged off the questions and stepped out of the shadows, wandering down the corridor. He was unsurprised to see the door still open. Lilah had obviously told Wesley to expect him.

"Lilah was none too happy to see you." Wesley's voice, rough and graveled, spoke out from darkened apartment. "I'd say she was rather pissed, in fact."

Angel entered the room, noting the blinds drawn, the sunlight blotted out. Was it consideration for Angel or merely because Wesley didn't want anyone spying on him and Lilah while they did the wild thing.

Consenting adults, Angel reminded himself, as he wandered over to the chair where Wesley was slouched. The other man's piercing gaze met his, the dark blue sharp and clear and not at all sex-stupid.

"I'm sure you soothed any ruffled feathers," Angel replied, settling down on the couch. "She seemed like a happy camper when she left just now." Had sounded like it too, when Angel had returned to the building only a few minutes earlier.

Wesley didn't respond, appearing just as cool and calm as ever. Distant, Angel realized, with a pang, and regretted his needling. What Wesley did now was none of his business. Not anymore.

"She got the information you wanted," was all Wesley said, reaching forward to hand over a slip of paper. "The one's who have your boy are called the Veii."

"That, that's great," Angel said, taking the paper, reading the name, imprinting it on his mind. He had a lead now, some connection, however tenuous, to Connor. "So, we've now got a name for the enemy."

Unthinkingly including Wesley in that, he rose, eager to start knocking on doors, kicking ass. Rescuing his son.

"Except you don't."

Wesley's voice cut through his eagerness with scalpel-like precision.

The ex-Watcher leaned forward in his chair to deliver the final, damning words. "The Veii aren't the enemy, Angel. They're our allies."


	8. Chapter 8

__

That will be your place, soon enough child.

The unpleasant promise returned to Connor time and again throughout the endless waiting, refusing to allow him either rest or peace, worming its way into his troubled subconscious as he took advantage of a brief cat-nap. It was not a true sleep, oh, no, for that would be a foolish thing to do amongst enemies and in Quor-Toth such an error would have earned him a whipping from Holtz. Not a malicious beating, he knew, more an act of love, just a way for his then-father to keep him alive for another day.

Thoughts of his guardian gave Connor no comfort at all, knowing that were Daniel Holtz still alive and not dead by his own hand, he would never have allowed his son to remained imprisoned, to remain alone. Bastard son of his most hated enemies though Connor was, Holtz had always taken care of his charge, had protected Connor with an intensity that gave even the darkest creatures of that hell dimension pause.

Unlike Angel and his friends, to whom Connor should have meant so much more to. They probably knew of his predicament and were already gloating, thinking he had got what he deserved. It still hurt when Connor thought of Fred's accusations, of her anger and pain when she had discovered what he had done to the vampire.

__

And how long before we deserved it? she had asked, eyes huge and so, so betrayed.

Never, Connor would have replied, if he had been given the chance, if his own crippling anger at his failure to destroy Angelus hadn't murdered the words before they were even born.

Grief and regret lanced through his heart as he thought of Fred, even of Gunn. That summer spent with them had been the best of his life. Carefree laughter, good and plentiful food, Fred's mothering. Hunting demons and vampires, knowing he had avenged his father's murder and that Angelus was rotting at the bottom of the sea. Life had been good.

But it was all gone now, turned to ashes. Angel had seen to that, seen fit to rip Connor from the one place he had ever called home, from the only people left alive who truly cared. That Angel had every cause, that Connor had messed up, had made the situation all the more galling.

In a pique of anger, Connor thumped his elbow back into the wall, the brick caving in where struck, but otherwise holding firm. The lone guard jumped at that and brought his staff to bear on the cell, but Connor ignored him, ignored everything around him, and drew his knees tighter into his chest, hugging to bring comfort, to stem the tide of the painful memories.

It was time he accepted the one truth he had so far failed to grasp. He was alone.

*****

"What?" Somehow thinking he must have misheard, vampire hearing be damned, Angel turned back.

"The Veii are servants of the Powers That Be," Wesley continued, his look anything but happy.

"But…how can that be?" Feeling as if the very foundations of his world were being shaken, yet again, Angel sank back to the couch, staring at the piece of paper now held slackly in his hand. Evil he could deal with, could fight with sword and axe and fist. But this…

With a weary sigh, Wesley rose and moved to the bookshelf, running a distracted finger over the spines of the volumes he kept there. Without turning, he began to speak, "The Veii are an ancient order, a sisterhood that has spanned millennia. Throughout history, they have been connected to the Sumerian goddess Nin-gal, the Egyptian goddess Nepthys, Tiamat of Babylon, and later still, the Greek goddess Athena and the Roman Minerva." Finally, he turned back to confront Angel. "Each and every one of these devoted to order and good."

"They've taken my son, Wesley," Angel said, hand clenching around the slip of paper, wishing he could crush Connor's kidnappers so easily, knowing he couldn't now, even were he to be given the opportunity. "How can they be the good guys in this?"

"My guess? They believe Connor to be evil, or at the very least, a harbinger of something worse to come."

"He's just a kid." Even to Angel's own ears, the argument sounded weak. Connor was anything but. 

Yet Wesley seemed to understand his turmoil, his gaze not unkindly. "Perhaps it would be possible to arrange an audience with the priestesses, plead Connor's case. It might take time, but…"

Angel shook his head and pushed to his feet, cutting him off. "Powers That Be or not, Wesley, Connor's done nothing wrong…" He paused, recalling that fateful night, the fight on the beach, his impromptu journey to the bottom of the ocean. "Well, not lately," he amended, somewhat lamely, then quickly shook off his doubts. "You know where these people are?"

"Of course, but Angel you must realize that…"

"No, Wesley." It came out sharply, and Wesley halted, raising a cool eyebrow, as Angel continued, "No words of caution, no telling me to be careful, that these people are on our side. They've abducted my son and I'll be damned if I let them get away with it."

"If you go up against the Veii," Wesley intoned, solemnly, "you might well be."

They stared at each other for a long moment, a silent communication that spoke volumes where words could only be inadequate. A brief moment of mistrust that led to a child's abduction, a scuffle in a hospital room coupled with harsh and unforgiving words, could not erase the memory of three years of camaraderie, of fighting side by side against unspeakable horrors, facing death each day on the toss of a coin, the whimsy of the Fates.

"Right then," Wesley said, briskly. "I'll just get my coat."

*****

The creak of the door jarred Connor from his misery and he glanced up through the bangs that shielded his eyes. The creature from before was slinking across the cavern floor, observing him through those eerie, yellow eyes, lit by an unholy fire from within. 

Giving up on the pretence of sleep altogether, Connor unfolded himself from his curled up position to slip off the bunk, not wishing to be at a disadvantage in the creature's presence.

It moved closer to the bars, cautiously, something red and dripping speared by one hooked claw. Meat, Connor saw with disgust, as he curled his fingers around the bars, wishing that his strength were greater, that he might somehow bend them enough to escape from this terrible place.

"Food," the creature enunciated, the word not coming easily though its thick canines. It pushed the lump of dead animal through the bars to land with a wet thud at Connor's feet.

Connor didn't take his eyes from the creature to look, didn't dare. Once, Angel's friend Cordelia had told him that demon didn't always equal evil. In this instance, she was mistaken. There was something indefinably wrong about this one, a malevolence held tightly in check, that, if freed, would do great damage and take great pleasure in the doing so. It didn't help that the creature was looking at him like he was its next snack, just another lump of bloodied meat not unlike the one at Connor's feet.

The creature backed away a little, then made a gesturing motion, bringing its claws up to its mouth, bobbing its head encouragingly.

It wants me to eat, Connor realized, with dull distaste. How foolish did his captors think he was? Were it one of Fred's bologna sandwiches, or even an Oreo cookie, and not something newly dead, Connor would not consume anything in this place.

The creature appeared crestfallen, then brought its claw to its chest, tapping lightly. "Gol-goth," it said.

Its name, Connor knew. The priestess had spoken it. But why give it to him? Did it, and he scoffed at the notion, somehow wish that they be friends?

It sidled closed, eyeing him slyly, then bent its head to whisper, "Young one Golgoth help."

Connor cocked his head at that, eyes narrowing as he regarded the creature. It was not to be trusted, that much was certain, but perhaps its agenda differed from that of its mistress. Perhaps there was an advantage to be had in such circumstance.

The creature sank onto its back haunches, squatting in the dirt with an ease that suggested it was not so comfortable on all fours after all. It was something Connor would have to remember if he ever fought it.

With one razor-sharp talon, it pointed meaningfully at the freshly dead kill, then twisted with a ripple of muscle and sinew and loped for the door.

Connor watched it leave, saw how the guard shifted nervously as it passed, obviously uncomfortable in the presence of such a beast, then bent to examine the gift the creature had brought. Through the blood and gore, there was a glint of something bright and shiny, something metallic. Wiping away the crimson fluid with the heel of his hand, Connor revealed the creature's true gift.

A key.


	9. Chapter 9

"The sisterhood of the Veii consists of nine priestesses, women of monumental power and skill. Their devotion to good is legendary." Wesley paused to glance out of the convertible's side window, seeing the bustling sidewalks sun-drenched by the fading, afternoon sun. "Their places of power are usually well guarded," he added, as an afterthought, "having a distinct liking for their privacy."

"Not a problem."

Wesley sighed at the driver's careless belligerence. "Don't underestimate these people, Angel," he warned, grimly. "For thousands of years, they've been accumulating some of the most powerful demons that walk this Earth in their quest for order. It's not just humans that you will be faced with."

"Is that what they'll do to Connor, Wesley? Enslave him to their cause?"

"I believe so."

"Then whatever gets in my way…is gonna die."

Though Angel kept his gaze fixed upon the road, the tinted glass of the windshield protecting him from the sun's deadly rays, Wesley could see how his fingers had tightened convulsively on the steering wheel, turning ever paler with the strain. It was a telling sign that Angel was taking Connor's abduction to heart, to matter what the boy had done to his father in his grief over Holtz's death.

Feeling he should say something more, Wesley continued, "We'll find him, Angel. We'll get him back."

"That's funny, because four months ago, that's exactly what I was spinning round in circles trying to do."

The silence that followed was sharp and brittle, full of old pain, the wounds caused by both men's betrayal still raw. Wesley ran a hand over his unshaven jaw, feeling weary beyond belief, yet fighting for something to say, anything to break the awkward moment. He never had the chance.

"I failed," Angel said, suddenly. "I failed him then, Wesley. I couldn't…there was no way in to that place. I tried, but…" He broke off, mouth drawn into a thin line of regret.

No more needed to be said. The deed had long since been committed, a terrible misjudgement that had cost a father his child and Wesley everything he had ever held dear. A bleak emptiness had swallowed the ex-Watcher where once that place had been filled with friends and a purpose. And a slip of a girl named Winifred Burkle.

"You should know," Wesley said, at last, feeling the need to unburden himself, "I never meant Connor any harm. What I did, I did for him."

"I know," Angel said, quietly. "I do know that, Wesley. But you should have trusted me." He spared the erstwhile Watcher a glance, then looked away, back to the road. "We were friends."

And that was the most painful part of all. "Yes," Wesley agreed, following Angel's lead and effectively ending the troubled conversation. "We were."

*****

Guard duty was commonly an easy task to perform, yet as Mikhail resolutely kept his eyes on the far wall, allowing nothing but the glow of torches to touch his vision, he reflected that it had turned out to be a contrary mix of dull and disturbing.

The boy, human though he might appear, was dangerous, feral. Or so the captain had warned his men. At first, Mikhail couldn't see it himself. The kid was young, skinny and wet behind the ears, appearing as though he might snap under nothing more than a harsh word.

But Mikhail, labouring under double-shift duty, had come to be wary of the demon with the visage of a child. Eyes far too old for such a young face belied the masquerade as they peered at him through an unruly fringe of hair, the boy's cocky body language suggesting his captor was little more than game, something to be hunted at leisure.

Two more hours, Mikhail had been told, until they came for the boy. Two more hours of enduring the torture of that disconcerting gaze.

It was enough to make Mikhail want to weep. Guard duty had always been the easiest of assignments. Keeping an eye on a prisoner, making sure they didn't escape or kill themselves. Or chew on their bunk buddies for that matter, like that snargoff demon had once taken upon itself to do. Now that had been an almighty mess to clean up, but again, not the guard's job. That was left to some unlucky slob who had drawn the short straw.

Now, Mikhail would be all too willing to mop up entrails if he could get out from the hell-spawn's sight. Beads of sweat were trickling ticklishly down the side of his face, neck and back, and he told himself it was the torches, contributing to an airless heat, that was making him sweat. Why the priestess couldn't get ventilation installed was a complete mystery to him.

Or better yet, stop living in an underground maze of tunnels and get an office block somewhere in the city.

Reaching for his cantina, Mikhail leant his staff against the wall and fumbled with the bottle's cap. A water-cooler would be nice too, he thought as he drank.

"Hey."

The water suddenly went down the wrong way and Mikhail found himself almost coughing up a lung. Through teared eyes, he glanced up to see the kid wearing a subtle, shit-eating smirk.

"You did that on purpose," Mikhail accused, then winced. He'd just broken the 'no communication with a prisoner' rule and had sounded like a ten-year old in the process.

The kid shrugged one shouldered, then nodded towards the cantina. "Just wanted a drink. I'm kinda thirsty."

That was true, no one had thought to bring the kid anything since he'd arrived, nothing edible at least. They weren't used to dealing with something so humanlike, something that obviously needed watering. Mikhail glanced towards the door, wondering if he should get someone, when the kid spoke again, sounding derisive.

"Come on, I'm locked up here." Tugging on the bars for emphasis, the kid continued, "I promise I won't break you."

Mikhail snorted at that, grabbing his staff and striding towards the cage. "No, but I will break you if you try anything." He levelled his weapon. "Back up."

The kid raised his hands in an excessive display of passivity and stepped back, away from the bars.

Mikhail approached the iron door, ready to put the cantina on the ground just within reach. As he bent down, he momentarily took his eyes from the kid and so would only discover much later what had hit him.

*****

Water shivered under the touch of warm breath, sending ripples crowding to the very edges of the silver cup. Valenza leaned forward and brushed the pad of one finger over the surface, murmuring the incantation with scarcely a sound.

The fading light spilled in from a gap in the cavernous ceiling, casting dappled patterns to scatter about the dust-laden floor. Precisely positioned, the chalice would capture the rays of the pregnant moon as it passed across the night sky, imbuing the waters contained therein with tremendous power.

A skilled Veii priestess could then use the Goddess' gift to great advantage, in battle against the minions of the darkness, or perhaps to enslave such creatures to her will. And, after eight hundred years of toiling beneath the scrolls of her sisterhood, Valenza was a very skilled priestess.

The incantation paused mid-sentence, she raised her head and stared straight ahead. "You come quietly, sister," she said, not bothering to turn towards the presence at her back.

"I did not wish to disturb your preparations, sister," came her reply. "It goes well?"

Valenza looked down at the cup, ran a polished nail around its lip, then rose from her knees, turning to the other Veii. "It goes perfectly," she informed the spelled vision.

The other was perched upon a throne of carved jade, her almond-shaped eyes dark and thoughtful. "You risk much, Valenza, in this latest venture."

"I am weary, Akiko," she countered, standing straight, hands folded demurely before her, the devout sister. "I have earned my freedom from these labours and tonight I shall prove that beyond doubt."

Akiko nodded, hands curled around the lion heads that sprouted from the arms of the throne. "By your standards, I am young, Valenza. Yet even I know the law. Do no harm to innocents. Can you be certain that this child is a servant of the dark?"

"I risk all upon it," Valenza replied, gravely.

"Yes," her sister replied, coldly, "you do."

And with that, the other Veii vanished, leaving Valenza alone in the cavern.

"Goddess," she breathed, pressing a hand to her chest in sudden doubt. "What have I done?"

*****

Swinging with monkey-like agility from the bars overhead, Connor let go and dropped into a crouch, listening intently for any sign that someone without had heard his little scuffle. Hearing no alarms, raised voices or running feet, he rose and put a hand on the cell door, halting its inward swing, the whine of strained hinges falling silent.

The man guarding him was unconscious but not dead, of that Connor was certain. Heeding his promise, he hadn't kicked the door outwards hard enough to do any permanent damage, to break the man, though no doubt the guard would awake with a sore head. Dragging the limp form into the cell, Connor closed the door firmly and turned the key the creature Golgoth had procured for him. Hopefully, he would have time enough to escape his captors before they came for him.

Pausing at the outer doorway, Connor once again listened before slipping out into the corridors. He was lost before he had even begun, unconscious when they had brought him in, yet as he scented the air with inhuman precision, he could smell daylight, filled with fresh air and freedom, ahead. Those were things he would eagerly track in order to exit his shadowy prison, but only if he could avoid further confrontation with those who had captured him.

As he crept round a corner, darting sharp glances both the way he had come and the route ahead, a voice spoke to him from the shadows of a recess.

"Young one."

Connor froze, felt a surge in his veins that made his heart beat all the quicker, pumping blood to his extremities in preparation for battle. His blue eyes, weaker than he would care to admit, struggled to find form in the darkness.

The demon Golgoth emerged, one claw raised to its mouth to caution silence. "This way," it said, and began to back away down the corridor, beckoning, drawing Connor reluctantly forward.

Connor frowned suspiciously as it disappeared through a doorless archway, but followed nonetheless. So far, it had proven its worth to him, giving him the means of escape with the gift of a key and was no doubt even now guiding him towards an exit, for the air was growing fresher still.

"Here," the demon said, as Connor edged cautiously around the corner.

It gestured grandly and Connor approached the rune-wrought door that barred his escape, confident that escape was within reach and all accomplished without any help from Angel or his kooky friends.

The door was cool to the touch and made of a thick, unresounding iron that would be all but impossible to break down. "How do I get through?" Connor demanded, perplexed, angry to be frustrated on the very verge of escape.

Behind him, unknown to him, the demon that was Golgoth began to rise, unfolding scaled limbs to straighten from its four-legged stance. Wings unfurled from a carapace on its back, spreading out with a whisper of leathered skin to engulf the boy before it.

"You don't," it answered, as claws flashed downwards for the kill.


	10. Chapter 10

There came a short, inhuman scream, followed by the ripe sound of something being ripped asunder.

Unmoved by the twisted death mask his victim now wore, the killer sat back to survey his handiwork. "Messy," he said.

"Quite." One hand braced on the dashboard of the car, Wesley surveyed the mangled demon form sprawled over the convertible's bonnet. "What was it do you think?"

"Hard to tell, especially now that it's in pieces. Besides, you're the expert here."

"Well, the poor wretch wasn't human, that much is certain." Observing the darkening sky overhead, Wesley continued, "The sun's not yet set, but I believe it's safe enough if you keep to the shadows."

"That's good enough for me."

As Angel threw open the door and slid out from behind the wheel, Wesley paused at his words, surprised and unexpectedly touched. It was a small thing, yet instinctive, unthinking trust was something he thought he'd never again receive from Angel. It was a heartening sign that not all had been completely lost that fateful night of Connor's abduction, that there still remained a kernel of friendship, of loyalty no matter the words they had exchanged earlier.

Following Angel's example, Wesley climbed out of the car and gingerly approached the dismembered creature they had run down. Angel was prodding at the gruesome kill, dislodging it from the bonnet, causing them both to step back quickly as the remains plopped wetly to the floor.

They stared at the unfortunate road kill for a moment, before Angel looked up.

"Do you think entrail will stain the paintwork?"

"It was guarding this place," Wesley said, ignoring the comment. "If the information Lilah gave me was correct, then there should be an entrance around here somewhere."

"_If _Lilah's information is correct." Angel gestured meaningfully to the solid brick wall that marked the end of the alley. "It's a dead end Wes and I don't see a door."

Once again Wesley was pleasantly surprised, this time by familiar, shortened use of his name, yet he didn't comment on Angel's slip. "That unfortunate creature you killed wouldn't have been here otherwise," he said, instead.

Together, they moved to the far end of the alley, Wesley checking the dumpsters, shifting cardboard boxes, while Angel crouched down and effortlessly lifted a drain cover with a squeal of tortured metal.

Wesley grimaced and shook his head as he picked his way over the junk strewn about. "Not the sewers. Lilah would have told me."

"You sure about that?" _About her_, was the unspoken question.

"Lilah may be many things Angel, vindictive, deceitful and just plain evil. But she hates a mess. Somehow I doubt she'd enjoy having the contents of Los Angeles' literal underbelly trailed into her apartment."

Releasing the drain cover with a resounding thunk, Angel rose from his haunches, dusting his hands. "There's gotta be another way in."

"A concealed entrance then," Wesley suggested. "That wall perhaps."

"Let's find out, shall we?"

Carefully tapping his knuckles against the unyielding brickwork, searching for the tell-tale hollow cavity, Wesley continued, "It's possible there'll be a hidden trigger or a pulley, something we can use to…"

"Step aside."

Wesley glanced back, then hastily obeyed, shielding his face with one arm as, with vampire strength, Angel drove a solid, metal pipe into the brickwork, punching straight through.

"Not solid at all," Wesley reported, peering through the newly formed hole. "It looks like there's a corridor beyond leading downwards. My guess is that it will take us to the Veii."

"And to Connor," Angel added, before bringing the pipe down once more.

*****

Fire raked his back and Connor cried out in agony, stumbling forward as the demon's claws ripped through cloth and tender flesh alike. Batting away the leathery wings that sought to cocoon him within the beast's lethal embrace, instinct took over and Connor kicked out at his enemy, connecting with one knee joint to brutally snap the critical juncture.

The creature screamed out its own pain as Connor staggered away from his would be slayer, distancing himself as he could in such close quarters. His back was aflame now, rivulets of blood trickling downwards from a multitude of agonising lacerations, yet he refused to be distracted by the pain. To do so, was to die.

Damaged as he was, Connor could remember no time when the circumstances had been so dire. In Quor-Toth, his guardian had usually been but a step away, even in his later years, and there were always weapons to be had, whether it was crude, handmade blades or nothing more than a rock on the ground.

Here and now, utterly alone, there was nothing but his own, impaired body and already Connor could feel a weakness brought on by a loss of blood, the faintness that threatened his balance, the rapidity of his of his own, accelerated heartbeat.

__

You will fight, my boy. The immaculate voice in his head was insistent, chiding, Holtz's words spoken at another time, another place. _And you will survive._

It was a desperate struggle, but Connor managed to drag himself upright, breath hitching with the pain, before he could turn to face the demon.

It had given up its bipedal stance and was back on all fours, all the better to nurse its broken joint, but it watched Connor, its unwavering gaze malevolent. "Why could you not die, weakling?" it hissed. "Now see what you have done."

Ignoring the pull of the wounds across his back, Connor fought to regain both balance and strength. He was the Destroyer, he told himself, had faced far worse in Quor-Toth, creatures that made the one before him seem tame. Yet it was the ease with which the thing had tricked him, had taken him at unawares that pricked at him, galled him. Holtz would have been ashamed, he knew, by his son's recklessness.

"I will do worse, demon," Connor swore, sending that oath to Holtz wherever he now resided, whether it be Heaven or hell.

The demon snarled in fury and lunged, its speed blinding despite its maimed leg, but Connor was ready, anticipating. He twisted aside, ignoring the pulling pain movement brought, welcoming the discomfort even as an old and familiar friend. Grabbing hold of the creature's scaly body, he used its own momentum to carry it on forward, head first into the door.

The hinges burst on impact, the combined strength of boy and demon breaking down the spelled door, sending them both sprawling to a sandy floor beyond.

Connor instantly rolled away, leaving a trail of blood as he did so, unsure whether the creature was permanently down and unwilling to take the chance that it wasn't. Slowly, carefully, he fought his way to his knees, raising his head to regard the room through the tangle of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

"So that's how it opens," he said simply, to the shocked priestess.

*****

"He was here," Angel announced, skidding to a stop to scent the air. "Connor. I can smell him. We're close."

"Can you lead us to him?" Wesley asked, quietly, darting furtive glances up and down the corridor.

Angel knew the ex-Watcher was worried by the distinct lack of resistance they had encountered thus far, suspecting a trap. But Connor was nearby, his rescue close at hand and Angel could think of nothing except that outcome. Trusting Wesley to guard his back, he ploughed on, oblivious to all else.

"This way," he said with certainty, turning down yet another labyrinthine tunnel.

"Angel, you should prepare yourself for the worst," Wesley warned, from behind. "They've had Connor for a day now. We have no idea what they might have done to him, what magicks they might have performed…"

"Whatever it is, I'll see that it's undone." A promise, as much to himself as to Connor.

"And what if it can't be?"

Angel didn't hesitate, didn't have time to play twenty questions with Wesley. "Then someone will pay."

"You can't afford revenge, not against the Veii. The Powers…"

"Can go to hell," Angel cut him off, swinging around to face the other man. "If they're using these priestesses to do something to Connor, to my son, then they'd better start looking for a new pawn on their cosmic chessboard, because I'll have quit."

*****

Gaze darting from both Golgoth to the demon child that crouched within her inner sanctum, Valenza abandoned her incantation and rose to her feet. There was a story behind the intrusion, she guessed, but she would hear of it later. For now, she recognised both Golgoth's betrayal and the danger the boy represented.

Calmly, she folded her hands before her, silently gathering her power unto herself. Should either attack her person, they would be sorely surprised. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, imbuing her words with the authority of her rank and position.

"Mistress." Golgoth spoke with difficulty as dark blood bubble from its broken mouth. "Your prize seeks to escape you."

At that, the boy let out a short bark of laughter devoid of any humour. "With your help, demon," he spat.

He had gained his feet now, yet Valenza noted the awkwardness of his movements, the stiffness about his shoulders, the iron-rich blood staining the sand. He had been damaged!

Instantly, she was overcome with righteous anger. No one was to be allowed to mark the prize, not if her sisters were to be convinced of his worth. "Golgoth," she stated, with cold fury. "You have betrayed me."

Already on its belly, the demon grovelled in the sand before her. "I have not, mistress. Golgoth is loyal."

The urge to destroy the craven thing was great, yet Valenza restrained herself. It would be too easy a death for the demon were she to activate the runed collar and kill with little more than a thought. No, a lesson would come from this…waste.

Not for Golgoth, its time had passed no matter the outcome, but for the boy. He would learn the price of disobedience and in doing so would become her instrument, administering the punishment himself. Now that he was already damaged, a little more hurt wouldn't unduly harm his worth and would perhaps in turn serve to dint some of that arrogance. He would have no use for it soon enough.

The priestess raised one slender hand and gestured to her fallen slave. "Finish your task, child," she commanded the boy. "Destroy it."

Golgoth's head whipped up that that, clearly not expecting such a punishment. Its tongue swiped its canines, a sign of its growing fear. "Mistress," it whimpered, "if I have failed…"

The boy's upper lips had curled into a feral snarl, baring his teeth, serving only to confirm in Valenza's mind that he was little more than a vicious animal, a demon not unlike the dying creature that even now abased itself at her feet.

"When I have finished with this beast," the boy warned her, grimly, "I will come for you."

Valenza was amused by the pathetic display of bravado. Little did he know of her powers, yet he still strove for defiance, sacrificing order for the sake of his childish pride. Her replacement would be tested greatly by this one, before he broke beneath the might of the collar and the will of the priestess who would own him.

"We shall see, child," was all she said. "You may begin."


	11. Chapter 11

Stung to outrage by the woman's imperious command, Connor returned, "I will not kill for your sport."

"Then you will die. Golgoth will tear you to pieces, child, unless," she tilted her head towards the downed beast, "you destroy it first."

"He lacks that strength, mistress," the demon taunted, its yellow eyes dulled of their inner fire, yet still containing a measure of menace. "As did those who came before."

Connor paused at that, ears pricking, hearing the ambiguous comment and liking it little. "Others," he echoed. "You have killed others like me?"

"Many," the demon replied, proudly. "I have drunk of their fluids and worn their worthless skins as a trophy. As I will yours."

In Quor-Toth, such a challenge could never have been allowed to go unheeded. From an early age, Holtz had taught that, no matter the adversary, Connor was never to back down, never to flee. _You are a weapon boy_, Holtz had told him, sternly, time and again. _One that I have crafted with my own hands for a single purpose. To strike down our enemies._

And if a quick kill were not viable, Connor was expected to use his superior strength and speed to bludgeon his enemy into submission and, ultimately, death, no matter the cost to his physical wellbeing. So many times he had returned to his father bloodied, though never broken. And he had always healed.

So, though his foe was already half-dead, and becoming deader by the minute, its threat effectively erased the last of Connor's resistance to do battle. Let the woman have her entertainment as he put the thing down and in turn be warned that he could easily do the same to her.

A short jump brought him face to face with the demon, and, spurred to violence, Connor struck out with one fist, before backhanding with the other, sending out a spray of black blood. The demon howled and lashed outwards in punitive retaliation, but Connor had already spun back, out of reach, and the claws easily missed their mark.

"Tricky, tricky," the demon muttered, as Connor began to circle, seeking an opening, a weakness in the things scaled hide.

*****

Dark eyes that would normally reflect a lifetime of sorrows were filled now with possessive anger. Wesley found it hard to meet the vampire's steely gaze, recalling all too well the last time he had seen that fury, accompanied by a pillow over the face and wild death threats. Yet he couldn't remain silent in the wake of Angel's threat to turn away from the Powers.

"I was going to suggest that The Powers That Be might reverse whatever the Veii have done to your boy," he said, calmly. "I'm sure Cordelia would demand no less of them and I think we both know that when Miss Chase doesn't get her way, things can get ugly."

The attempt at humour, poor though it was, in addition to the mention of Cordelia, seemed to shake the vampire into some semblance of rationale. "You know about Cordy? The Axis…"

"Showed you that she is now a Higher Being. Yes. Word gets out. I have my sources."

"Fred told you, didn't she."

"My point is, don't do anything rash, not until we have all the facts. While I would hate to see Connor harmed, the world still needs a champion. It can't afford to lose you to this, Angel."

"I wouldn't stop helping people, you know me better than that Wesley." Eyes more soulful than accusing now, Angel sighed, clearly not happy about reining it in, yet his black anger seemed to have abated somewhat.

The instinct to protect one's offspring was strong in the vampire and under other circumstances, Wesley would applaud his devotion to his child, but there were greater things at stake. Not for the first time, the ex-Watcher wondered if Connor might yet become a tool for their enemies, the unwitting agent in Angel's downfall. For if the boy were to be killed, there was no telling what it might do to the vampire, what lengths the father might go to, to avenge his child's death. If it didn't break Angel first.

"I'll keep a hold on it," Angel continued, oblivious to Wesley's troubled musing. "At least until we find Connor."

"That's good enough for me."

He deliberately echoed the words of trust Angel had spoken earlier, but if the vampire heard, he didn't comment, instead turned to continue the hunt for his son. Wesley smiled sadly and, after a moment, began to follow.

*****

The fight was short, brutal, lacking in either challenge or finesse. Taking a firm grip on the creature's scaled head, Connor brought his knee up, swiftly and without restraint, shattering the jaws that threatened constantly to snap at him.

Releasing his hold, Connor drew back, then kicked the thing in the belly, staggering backwards with the force of his own blow as he sent the demon flying into the wall. For a moment it hung there, an insectoid form with shredded wings, before sliding downwards, leaving a trail of slime and black blood, hitting the floor with an air of finality.

If it wasn't dead, it soon would be, Connor knew, as he wiped a sleeve over his forehead, erasing the sweat of pain and exertion. Under any other circumstance, he would end it quickly, seeking a swift kill, for there were few more dangerous creatures than a wounded demon with nothing to lose. But he had entertained enough for now.

Panting heavily, in a great deal of pain that grew stronger with each hitching breath, he turned away from the dying demon to face the woman, the puppeteer in this particular charade. The orchestra in his abduction and the bout with her demon pet, her actions cast some doubt over her humanity, though Connor was forced to restraint until he knew for certain.

Quor-Toth had been lacking the presence of human females, but Holtz had been a chivalrous man. He had imparted his beliefs to Connor, had driven into the boy that women should always be treated carefully and with the respect due their weaker sex.

So while Connor could still frighten the priestess, win, with coercion, his freedom from this place, he could do her no more harm than he could Fred or Cordelia. Though both had at one time or another managed to subdue him despite his superior strength. Fred with her taser and her false concern and Cordelia with her demon magic.

"It lives still, child," the priestess said. "Finish it."

Connor cast a look back to the broken form, then shook his head, determined to be contrary. "No."

A look of annoyance crossed the priestess' face and her features hardened. "Very well then."

A flash of light came from behind Connor and, alarmed, he spun, reacting to what his instincts perceived as a threat. Flames glowing white hot with their intensity licked over the demon's body, consuming flesh and bone as they raced over the shuddering form. A few moments more and there was nothing but ash where the creature had fallen.

Nothing but the heavy collar it had worn.

Apprehensive, Connor turned back to the priestess, falling into a ready stance as he gauged the distance between them. Woman or not, if she conjured such magicks against him, she would die.

"Now," she said, cold gaze falling onto Connor, "what to do with the little sparrow that seeks to escape."

"You think to frighten me?" he demanded, shifting his weight in preparation to move quickly if need be, trying to keep the pain of his damaged flesh out of mind.

"I think to hurt you," she returned, raising her hand ominously, revealing blue sparks that danced from finger to finger.

Connor snorted at that, thinking her a fool. To live was to hurt. Holtz had taught him that lesson well enough when he had left his son nothing but a corpse to weep over. Angel merely added the addendum to that particular chapter.

"Hurt me then," he taunted, thinking of the night he had said the same words to Fred, how she would have gladly complied had it not been for Gunn. "I'm used to it," he added, more quietly.

The priestess smiled at that, though the humour didn't reach her eyes. "We shall see."

With a swiftly spoken word, lightning arced from her hand, racing across the distance to strike Connor directly in the chest before he could move aside.

As pain sliced through every nerve ending, cut into every fibre of his being, Connor had breath for a single cry, before even that was ripped away from him. 

*****

Outside the priestess' inner sanctum, Baron paused, raising a hand to the men that followed, signalling for them to halt. He entered through the broken door alone, the breathless screams growing louder, the scent of ozone sharper now.

At the far end, Valenza was standing before her throne, robe billowing from the energy being channelled through her body, golden tresses whipping about her shoulders as static crackled the very air.

In the centre of the room was the recipient of her ire, the boy Valenza had ordered brought to her. Yet while the priestess had demanded they capture him unharmed, it seemed that she was exempt from a directive meant only for her soldiers.

The child was sprawled on his back, arched taut in agony as lightning crackled indiscriminately over his body. His cries were fading, yet Baron guessed it was more from lack of air than any will to be silent.

For her part, Valenza seemed determined, intent on breaking the child here and now. Her features were contorted, no longer beautiful, but ugly in her wrath.

Crossing quickly to his mistress and lover, Baron approached as close as he dared, feeling the air about alive with electricity, the fine hairs on his bare forearms prickling his skin.

"Mistress," he called, loud enough to be heard over the furore of the storm. "You must halt this."

If she heard, Valenza gave no sign but continued to torment the boy, gleeful in his agony. Much more of her torture and all they had striven for would be for nought.

Baron moved forward and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, knowing he ran dire risk of being struck down himself. Shocked at having hands laid upon her person, Valenza gasped, instinctively seeking a new target.

"Valenza!" Baron said, shaking her a little.

"How dare…" she began, but he cut her off.

"You would stop his heart?" he demanded, jerking his head towards the boy. "What then of your grand plan for freedom?"

As she stared into his eyes, Baron witnessed the murderous rage dissipate, and slowly, Valenza lowered her hands, the storm abating. She would be done for a while, he knew, keeping perfect control from now on. But the years had been long and the passing of each one had seen the Veii priestess grow more and more unstable.

Her unchaste love for him was just one more sign of her growing insanity, Baron knew. As was taking the boy, Connor, whose status with his father remained uncertain.

Reminded of his reason for halting Valenza's tirade, Baron released his lover and looked down at the child. Not dead by the unsteady rise and fall of his chest and the tears that had been squeezed from his tightly closed eyes. He no doubt had his demon heritage to thank for his survival, but he was unconscious now and for that Baron was grateful. It was better that way, less chance he might upset the priestess with his childish tongue. Less likely that he would be suffering from his wounds.

The men had gathered inside the door now, curious yet hesitant. No doubt they had witnessed their captain's assault on the priestess, a crime to be punished by death, but Baron had no time for such worries.

"See to the boy," he ordered them, harshly, and they were quick to obey, sensing his foul mood.

"Golgoth is gone," Valenza spoke, softly, sounding almost sad.

Baron nodded at that, neither surprised nor overly grieved. The beast would have been put down long before had not Valenza's obsession for freedom taken her attention from the necessity.

A sharp cry swung him back to his soldiers, in time to see one man flung through the air to strike the far wall with a solid thud. Before Baron could move, another panicked yell signalled another man's demise.

Thinking the boy had somehow recovered enough to be a cause for concern, Baron leapt down from the dais, striding into the melee…

Only to come face to face with a terrible visage.

"Back. Off," the vampire growled, dangerously.

Behind him, a man was crouched over the supine form of Valenza's prize, checking for a pulse. One of Baron's soldiers lunged for him, but was quickly snapped up by the vampire, who grabbed him by the neck and flung him away as if the man's six foot frame weighed little more a child's.

"The next one of you that tries to touch my son," the vampire continued, with sinister promise, "is going to die."


	12. Chapter 12

Dire warning given and primed for fulfilment at the slightest provocation, Angel waited for the Veii's guards to make the next move. He doubted he could take them all, but he'd be sure to buy enough time for Wesley to see Connor free of this place…even if he didn't make it himself.

"Wesley," Angel said, not daring to look back, though he ached to do so. Like ravaging wolves, his son's captors would be sure to attack if he dropped his guard for even an instant.

"He's alive," came the ex-Watcher's reply.

And Angel sagged with stark relief, human face supplanting the demonic mask he would have worn for a bloody massacre had the answer been anything but. For a few, terrible moments, he had feared the worst, his vampire hearing unable to detect the reassuring sound of Connor's heartbeat through the noise of the scuffle.

Long before the incongruous 'Hi Dad', before even Connor's very first, in drawn breath to cry, it had been the precious sound of his son's heartbeat that Angel had become so sensitively attuned to. It was a small thing, yet had prevented Angel from staking Darla that night at the amusement park, inadvertently murdering his unborn, ensouled child in the process.

But though Connor still lived, Angel could smell his son's blood, freshly spilled, could see it staining the sand beneath his feet and he felt his anger rising anew. Someone had hurt his son, had hurt him so badly that even Connor's usual disregard for pain had been tested, then snapped in two.

"No!" A horrified gasp cut through the silence. "It can't be…"

Standing upon a stone dais, the Veii priestess who had orchestrated Connor's kidnapping had collapsed back against her throne, pale and shaking, lips moving wordlessly in denial. Angel took menacing step toward her, prepared for a lengthy 'discussion' over Connor's treatment at her hands, when, with a sigh of steel, a blade was whipped forward to bar his way.

The bearded swordsman who held him back cocked his head. "Who are you, vampire," he demanded, "that I should not kill you where you stand?"

Before Angel could move to take the man down, cast him aside like so much garbage as he went for the cause of his troubles, Wesley spoke up.

"He is Angel, a champion of the Powers. We are all allies here, not," he glanced at the guards who even now awaited the order to attack, "enemies."

"The boy's father?" The swordsman frowned, then lowered his weapon, turning to his priestess.

"No," she said again, this time addressing Angel. "He is yours no longer. You can't have him!" The last was spoken petulantly, like a child refusing to relinquish a favoured toy.

"I'm his father," Angel retorted, bluntly. "He's my responsibility."

"You gave up that right when you cast him from your house. For the crime he committed against you, he must be made to atone."

"I think that's for me to decide, don't you? Whatever happened between me and my son is not your concern."

"And, when once more he reveals his true nature," she cajoled, mockingly, throwing her hands into the air, "when he threatens to destroy us all, will that then be my concern?"

Angel glanced back to his son, little more than a boy, still not yet a man. The potential was there, both for good and evil no matter how much Connor strove for the right, and Angel could sense the other, the mayhem simmering beneath the cool as glass exterior, waiting for just the right trigger to set it off unchecked.

In that respect, he and Connor were much alike, both with inner demons to contend with, though Connor had yet to acknowledge his own, brazenly convinced of his own superior morality. Left to his own devices, there was no telling what the boy might become as he continued to grow, to become stronger and faster as each day passed. No telling how Connor might come to deal with the challenges life had yet to throw his way, whether they would make or break him.

Angel couldn't begin to guess what the future might hold for their little family, father and son, but there was one thing he knew for certain. It was going to be one hell of a ride finding out.

Turning back to face the priestess, armed with convictions only a father could possess, Angel said, "What Connor did to me…I forgive him."

He paused, the difficulty with which he spoke those words surprising, yet had he not told Connor the very same thing, even as the boy was exacting his revenge for Holtz's death by nailing his true father into a coffin, destined for a watery grave.

Determined to finish the thought before the disturbing memories of three months under the sea returned to ruin his magnanimous mood, Angel continued, almost introspectively, "I forgave him that very night."

"No," the priestess said, again, sounding more panicked now. "You lie. You cannot say such a thing."

"I just did," Angel said, folding his arms, effectively ending a conversation that, in his mind, had only one possible conclusion. "Now, I'm taking my son home and if anyone tries to stop me…"

"Kill him!" the priestess screeched, suddenly, taking all present by surprise.

"Priestess," the man with the sword protested. "You cannot order such a thing. He is not our enemy. The others, they will…"

He faltered, the punishment for such a crime too horrendous to say aloud, but she was beyond reason now. Angel could see the madness lurking behind her cerulean eyes, spilling from its fragile container of sanity, and readied himself for a fight.

"Captain," the priestess continued, icily as she addressed the swordsman. "I command you!"

"Please, Valenza," her captain begged her, "do not do this."

"Kill him," the priestess finished, triumphantly. "Kill the vampire!" When he hesitated, she shouted, "_Now_!"

The Captain appeared shocked yet he slowly turned to face Angel nonetheless, reluctance and raw regret etched across his features.

"As you wish, mistress," was all he said, before raising his sword.

*****

Feeling a warm dampness seeping through his shirt, Wesley glanced down at the wounded and bleeding burden he held against his chest. Angel's son, hanging limp, unconscious and Wesley felt an odd surge of protectiveness. It had been but a few months since he had carried baby Connor in his arms, such a little time had passed since he had attempted to spirit the child away.

Pressing the back of his hand to Connor's tear-stained cheek, Wesley felt the waxen skin beneath cool and clammy to the touch. The boy was in shock and in dire need of rest and recuperation if his healing ability were to kick in and begin its unnatural work. For all Wesley knew, the condition the boy was in might turn life threatening at any moment.

"Angel," he said, worriedly, to the vampire crouched at his side. "We need to get him out of here."

"I will."

There was no hesitation or doubt in the reply as Angel slid out of his leather jacket to tuck it around his child with such tender care Wesley could hardly bear to watch. Angel had been so protective of his baby son, mama bear vibes Lorne had called them, that even now Wesley wondered how he could have been such a fool to think the vampire could do anything to harm Connor.

"Wesley," Angel said, as he rose from his haunches.

"Yes?"

"Look after him."

They stared at each other for a long moment, before Wesley was forced to look away, able only to nod wordlessly at the heartfelt request. That Angel would trust him with Connor now, after all that he had done, was beyond anything Wesley had ever expected.

He settled down with the boy's weight sprawled across his chest, the tang of iron-rich blood heavy in the air, and watched the vampire stalk to the centre of the cavern where his opponent even now awaited him.

A challenge, the Veii's captain had said, as he raised his sword in salute to Angel. They would duel, the winner taking Connor as the prize and, surrounded by such superior numbers, Angel had no choice but to comply.

The priestess had not been happy, had screeched and wailed like a harpy until her captain had spoken to her in hushed tones. Only Angel, with his sharp hearing, could know what was said, but it seemed to calm the irate woman and she had given the vampire a smug look before returning to her seat upon the throne, a mad, regal spectator for what was to come.

Angel took his position before the captain and caught, one handed, the borrowed sword that was hefted his way. Wesley looked on as he swung the weapon experimentally a few times, gauging both weight and flexibility, before turning to his adversary.

During his time at the Watcher's academy, Wesley had read with great interest of Angelus' skill with a sword, had hungrily poured over the account of his duel with Buffy Summers before the stone statue of Acathla a few years previous. And though the Slayer had eventually managed to overcome Angelus after what had been termed an intense fight to the death, Wesley doubted there were many others who could defeat the vampire in such a contest.

The murmurs from the Veii's guards were stilled as Angel raised his blade in silent salute, before dropping into an _en guard _stance, the captain quick to follow.

The initial clash of steel was loud in the silence and Wesley started, fragmented thoughts flying to the last words Angel had spoken. _Look after him._ He tightened his grip on the boy who was even now beginning to stir, determined not to fail either son or father a second time.

"I give you my word," he said, quietly, as the fight began in earnest.

*****

The gasp that sought to tear from Connor's throat was quickly, instinctively stifled and he tensed as a presence loomed over him. For a blind, panicked moment, he was unsure where he was, what had transpired to leave him in such agony, and he thought it might have been a demon. Somewhere, nearby, he could hear the disconcerting sound of metal on metal, struck in rapid succession, and he struggled to open his eyes to see.

"It's alright." Soft, soothing words, a masculine voice with a clear, crisp accent. "You're safe. You're not going to be harmed again."

__

Father, Connor almost asked, in his delirium, then recalled that Holtz was dead and the scent of the man holding him was unfamiliar.

He broke free of the confining grip and managed to push away, before curling over helplessly as a tidal wave of pain washed over him to leave his body weak and trembling. He remembered now, the priestess had tortured him, the torment not unlike the weapon Fred had used on him the night of Angel's return. Except this time he had practically asked for it, foolishly believing he could handle anything the woman might throw his way.

__

What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, had been one of Holtz's favourite sayings. Yet whatever the witch had used, had hurt. Badly.

His nerves were still twitching uncontrollably, unable to relax, anticipating more of the soul-shattering pain that had been sent screaming into his body, collapsing his resistance.

"Connor." The male voice made him go very still. "Your father's here."

__

My father's dead, he nearly said, mind still ragged and raw, unsure himself whether he was speaking of Holtz or Angel.

Rolling to one side, not even bothering with an attempt to rise on boneless legs, Connor brushed aside the hair that had fallen into his eyes with a hand that shook shamefully, to observe the man crouched in the sand beside him. He bore a certain familiarity, yet Connor was certain they had not met. He never forgot a scent, a useful tool in Quor-toth for tracking prey, but there was something tantalising reminiscent about this man, like a very old, frayed memory.

Seeing Connor's suspicions, the stranger confirmed, quietly, "I used to work for your father…before you were taken."

It didn't take much to work out who the man with the haunted eyes and the unshaven jaw was. Back before Angel's return, Connor had heard Fred and Gunn arguing over someone named Wesley, when they thought him safely asleep in his room. Fred had pressed for their exiled former colleague to be included in their search for the vampire, while Gunn had denied her request time and time again.

__

He abducted Connor, if you recall, Gunn had once said, too loudly, forgetting that Connor's excellent hearing would allow him to listen to every word, even though he was two floors above. _And then he allowed that psycho Holtz to take Angel's kid to a hell dimension._

Willing his trembling forearms to bear his weight, Connor dragged himself upright to stare at the stranger who had unwittingly gifted him to the man he had called father for sixteen years. _God's will_, Holtz had told him often enough, yet had neglected to mention how exactly Connor had come to be with him.

Uncertain whether to feel grateful or resentful towards this Wesley, Connor gave in to neither emotion, but instead glanced over one shoulder towards the continued sounds of the fighting.

The bearded man who had taken him prisoner was engaged heavily in a sword fight, parrying blow after blow as his tireless opponent kept up the attack. Despite his own skill with an array of weaponry, Connor was grudgingly awed by the display, barely able to catch each thrust and feint as they were executed with incredible precision.

The captain was holding his own, though, moving with a surety and grace that allowed him to block each attempt to pass through his guard. He attempted a cut of his own and forced his opponent to dive under the blow, rolling forward to rise and spin and block the next move with a clang of metal.

Connor's eyes widened in surprise as he caught sight of the second swordsman, face tensed in concentration and effort…Angel.

Wesley followed his wondering gaze and nodded. "Your father," he stated, quite simply. "He's here to take you home."


	13. Chapter 13

"He came for me?" The words came out small and full of disbelief, voice rough from his earlier screaming. A myriad of emotions fled unchecked through Connor's mind, yet he was too dazed to even begin to discern them all.

"Of course," Wesley said, then added, gently, "Did you think he would leave you here?"

__

I would have, Connor retorted, silently. After all, he had left Angel to rot at the bottom of the sea.

The shock that he hadn't been abandoned despite his earlier, childish fears was waning now, allowing him to acknowledge his initial feelings of gratitude and relief…and an intruding warmth towards his vampire father that he couldn't even begin to understand.

For sixteen years, Daniel Holtz had been the sole recipient of that particular emotion. Then later, albeit to some lesser extent, Cordelia and Fred, though Connor suspected it had more to do with the women's mothering and the fact they kept him fed than anything else.

But to feel that towards Angel, the creature that had slaughtered and maimed for centuries, the so called father who had been the source of much of Connor's pain, was unthinkable and a betrayal of Holtz's memory.

__

Honour thy father, boy, his guardian had preached during the darkest nights of Quor-Toth.

__

And yet Angel came for you, a small, niggling part of Connor's mind protested. _Holtz killed himself and Angel came for you._

Feeling as though his loyalties were being ripped in two, as though he himself was being torn between the men who would name themselves his father, Connor welcomed the surge of resentment as an old and familiar friend, allowing it to supplant his confusion with something purer.

The anger Connor reserved for Holtz, for leaving his son with the burden of a false and empty vengeance that would come to naught. And just as he hated Holtz for dying, he resented Angel for being the one to live, the only target remaining for his impotent rage.

Connor struggled to rise, anger lending him strength, batting away Wesley's hand as the man tried to prevent him.

"Don't worry," Wesley attempted to reassure him, mistaking his frantic efforts as fear. "I've studied your father's skill with a sword and I'm confident he is without peer. He'll win this battle, have no doubt."

__

A pretty speech, Connor thought, feeling his upper lip curl in a sneer. "I can fight my own battles," he snarled, frustrated once more as his weakened body continued to betray him and send him back to his knees.

"Clearly," Wesley remarked, dryly. "But perhaps you should let your father handle this one."

Across the cavern, Angel was still engaged with the captain of the Veii's guards, face to face now with the man, their swords screeching where the blades scraped against one another, sparks flying from the sheared metal as both fighters vied for the upper hand.

Angel, perhaps sensing his son's regard glanced his way and for a vital moment, their eyes locked, intense brown engaging embittered blue. Instantly, the vampire's demeanour changed.

With a growl, Angel brought his elbow upwards, striking the captain of the priestess' guards in the face and the man fell back, stunned, effectively ending their stalemate.

Angel spared Connor a quick, determined look, nodding slightly in acknowledgement, before turning his focus back to the battle at hand.

*****

"You know I'm gonna win," Angel remarked, off-handedly, as he faced his rival once more. He had won first blood, though not in any conventional manner as the captain's nose began to bleed.

Chagrined, the man gingerly tested his wound, fingers coming away stained red. "I see now where the boy gets his swagger," he commented, wryly.

"Give it up."

The captain shook his head, readying his sword once more. "I cannot. My priestess orders this."

"Your so called _priestess _is playing with one card short of a full deck."

Even as he said the words, Angel saw the man's face change, become set, and knew he'd struck a sore point.

"I know," the captain replied, gravely. "But where she commands, I am bound to obey."

He lunged abruptly, point first, seeking the vampire's heart, and Angel was forced to jump backwards, his supernatural speed the only thing to save him from being run through. Steel, unlike wood through the dead organ wouldn't kill him but it would slow him down, might even cripple long enough for his adversary to win a fatal blow.

And his own demise aside, Angel couldn't afford to lose, not with Connor's life at stake.

He anticipated the next lunge and parried, swiping downwards to send the captain's sword glancing aside, away from his torso. For a brief moment, the manoeuvre allowed Angel inside his opponent's guard and he was quick to take advantage, punching the captain in his already damaged face with a short, hard jab.

If the culmination of pain in the wounded area affected the man, he didn't show it, just shook his head to clear it from the daze of Angel's blow.

Something about that dismissive gesture struck Angel as odd, wrong somehow. Most humans would have been unable to match his vampire's strength, would have crumpled under such a strike. Slayer's, like Buffy and Faith, were the exception, possessors of an ancient force that gifted normal girls with incredible, superhuman might. And as for Connor, well the jury was still out on what exactly he was, but the past had proven that even he would be unable to stand for long against his father.

Yet this man, this captain who guarded the Veii so zealously, had done exactly that.

Too, there were other less obvious, more insidious signs. The air was close, warm, even Angel's cold body could feel its heat, yet the captain wasn't sweating, despite their exertions. And his scent remained unchanged, even in the thick of the fight, no adrenaline, no fear. He wasn't even breathing heavily.

Angel eyed him suspiciously as they circled one another. "What are you?" he demanded.

The captain raised a black eyebrow and grinned. "Asks the vampire with a soul."

At that, he unleashed a flurry of blows upon Angel's guard, taking him by surprise at their fury, numbing the vampire's arm with their force. Unable to do little but defend against the shock tactics, Angel found himself retreating, until his foot snagged on something and for a critical second, he lost his balance. The captain's booted kick took Angel in the gut and sent him sprawling backwards to the floor.

Angel raised his sword, barely in time to block the one that was whipped downwards, seeking to sever his head from his shoulders. Metal scraped with a high-pitched whine and Angel gritted his teeth as he attempted to force the other's blade away.

It took every ounce of his strength and then some, but the captain was persistent and…not human. Glancing away from his opponent's grim, determined features, Angel caught sight of Wesley and Connor. The ex-Watcher was crouched beside the boy, hand placed comfortingly on Connor's shoulder, frowning in worry over Angel's predicament.

As for Connor, Angel could see his son's pale, pain-etched face drawn into a scowl as he watched his father fight. Angel didn't delude himself that Connor's worry was for him, but when their eyes met, some nebulous emotion shifted in the shadowed blue that gave Angel hope.

And a much needed wake-up call. It had never been about the duel, nor defeating the man that was even now trying to decapitate him. It had always been about rescuing Connor.

Saving his son.

In a surge of strength fuelled by purpose, Angel heaved the captain off him. Years of brawling in the taverns of his Irish home had taught Liam to fight dirty and as his opponent came for him once more, Angel grabbed a handful of sand and threw it into the man's face, temporarily blinding him.

"Clichés," Angel said, as he sweep-kicked the captain's legs from under him in a powerful scissor cut. "Don't you just hate 'em?"

Instantly, he was atop the man, punching in quick succession, determined to knock the captain insensible long enough to win and retain the upper hand, ending this farce.

When finally the captain's bloody head lolled back, Angel took that as his cue and grabbed both swords, rolling to his feet.

Groggily, the captain roused, unsurprised to see the vampire towering above him. Slowly, with an exaggerated wince, he dragged himself to his knees before his vanquisher. Angel crossed the blades he held, allowing each edge to rest lightly against the captain's neck.

"Yield," Angel told him, firmly.

"I cannot," the captain replied.

"Don't make me kill you."

"It would be no worse than what she would do to me."

The man reached up to bare his throat, parting the cloth to reveal a glint of metal and Angel's eyes narrowed at what he saw there. A collar, a runed ring of steel that encircled the man's neck.

"You see," the captain said, with a nonchalant shrug, "I am her slave."

*****

Bitterly, Baron allowed the folds of his shirt to close, concealing the hated collar once more. Behind his vampire conqueror, he could see Valenza, her face frozen as she perched elegantly upon her throne, but her fingers fluttered, a sign she was gathering her power.

"No," he told her and flung out his own, powerless hand. "Our laws abide. It is done."

He tilted his head back to permit the vampire a cleaner cut, hoping for nothing more now than that it would be mercifully quick.

So the vampire's unhappy sigh caught him by surprise, as did the lifting of the blades that rested against his vulnerable throat.

"I don't want your life," the vampire said, tossing both swords down in disgust. "I just want my son back."

With that, he turned his back on the defeated captain and headed towards the boy he had fought so hard to reclaim. Baron's men parted swiftly before him like a flock of sheep, their wondering silence speaking volumes.

Moved by the vampire's show of mercy, Baron felt compelled to explain. "It was never for her," he called, and the vampire paused in mid-stride, cocking his head to listen though he didn't turn around. "Your son's capture." Rising to his feet, Baron added, "It was for me."

He spared a glance for Valenza, but she wouldn't look his way, eyes only for the vampire who had stolen her precious prize.

"She wanted to free me," Baron continued, needing to speak the words, to make the vampire understand, "to find a champion worthy of taking my place, so we could leave the Veii's fold, together."

Now the vampire did turn, his contempt and disappointment evident. "Sorry to have ruined your plans to elope, but you don't kidnap children to earn your freedom. As far as I'm concerned," and he allowed his gaze to take in the priestess, "you don't deserve it."

There followed a moment of silence and Baron shot the priestess a worried look. Like ice now, she retained her seat upon her throne, seemingly unmoved, yet one finger tap-tapped against the arm, a sign of a growing storm.

Abruptly, she smiled, all beauty and sunshine. "You should not concern yourself with such things, vampire."

It was an ominous portent and suddenly, Baron felt the need to reach for his sword. Or any weapon. The hairs on his forearms were rising, as his mistress began to call upon the ancient powers.

Valenza pushed herself up, to step into the cold beams of moonlight that spilled through the cavern's ceiling. The rays struck her golden hair first, surrounding her with an unearthly light, then travelled down her arms, towards the very tips of her fingers.

The wild, building energies caused the ground to shake and Baron's men began to murmur in panic, even as the vampire continued to hold his ground before the mad priestess.

"Valenza!" Baron roared, ducking as chunks of rock began to fall from the unstable ceiling above.

Her unseeing eyes looked his way and in them Baron saw nothing of the woman he had come to love, only an empty distraction that would see them all buried beneath the ruins of her temple.

"Now," she said, her pleasantness incongruous in the wake of the shouting, fleeing men. "Where were we?"

The vampire had moved to shield his son from the falling masonry, but when he heard her words, he stepped away from the boy, leaving him to the care of the other man.

So his child wouldn't be an inadvertent target of the priestess' madness, Baron realised and wanted to weep at the injustice of it all.

Before he could speak, say a word of protest or prayer, his mistress called down the lightning, turning the might of her Veii magic upon the defenceless vampire that even now awaited her attack.


	14. Chapter 14

Scenting his own death in the ozone-tinged air, Angel instinctively braced himself, closing his eyes against the blazing light that surrounded his would-be murderess. He was certain were circumstances less dire, the irony would strike him as amusing, that after countless, nail biting battles against vampire, demon, mayor and lawyer, he was destined to be taken out by his own side.

And yet, despite his fatalistic musings, the seconds continued to tick by, the passage of time stretching unbearably, becoming taut and thin with tension…

Before snapping back with a jolt as Angel dared to crack open his eyes, still anticipating hellfire, wondering why he remained as yet intact and untouched.

Standing upon the dais, the insane priestess continued to thrum with power, the energy enough to send trembling shock waves through the cavern floor. But she was impotent now, her eyes wild as they darted about in fright.

Angel followed her gaze to a group of women standing silent and apart, cowls hiding their faces, seemingly impervious to the falling rock, the destruction and mayhem. _Cast images_, Angel realised, as their forms shimmered and shivered like glass refracting light. Illusions.

One raised her hand and spoke a single word. "Enough!"

Like the flicking of a light switch, the priestess' power disintegrated in a flash, falling away to be swallowed hungrily by the earth at her feet. Instantly, the ground ceased to shake and the Veii guards who had failed to escape the initial onslaught fell to their knees before the newcomers.

"The other Veii," Wesley spoke up from behind Angel.

The ex-Watcher was gazing keenly at the women, the dark events that led to his exile unable to entirely suppress the boyish eagerness that gleamed in his eyes, that hawkish hunger for knowledge of all things mystical. Angel took it as a good sign, one that suggested the old Wesley hadn't been completely buried beneath the aloof cynic the man had become.

As for Connor, he had Angel's leather jacket slung haphazardly about his shoulders now, the stark contrast of shiny black against too pale skin making him appear all the more vulnerable. Wrapped in a coat two sizes too big for him, he reminded Angel of a kid playing dress up in daddy's clothes. Except the time for such childlike games were over a decade too late.

"Are you ok?" Angel asked, seeing the evidence for himself, yet needing to hear Connor say it.

Connor squinted at him from where he knelt in the sand, then looked away, down at his hands, refusing to make eye contact. "I'm fine," he muttered.

Angel stared a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied. Whatever was going on in his son's head, he'd get to the bottom of it, but not here, not now. Later, when they were safely back at the hotel.

The Veii who had first spoken removed her pale hood to reveal cinnamon skin and a crimson caste mark set low on her forehead. "Angel the vampire," she greeted him, her cool demeanour lacking either regret or guilt. "Be assured, we have no quarrel with you or your get. You may leave now."

Taken aback at the highhandedness of her words, Angel had to bite his tongue to keep from voicing a sharp retort. His first priority was to get Connor out, so he'd play it their way and keep it impersonal. For now.

"Charming," he heard Wesley utter, who was under no such constraint.

Stooping, Angel helped Connor to his feet, pulling his son's arm over one shoulder despite the boy's protests that he could walk just fine.

__

Yeah, sure you can, Angel thought, _that's why you're shaking a like a new born foal._

It was sheer stubborn pride and Angel knew exactly whose genes had contributed to that particular trait. Darla had held her own conceits of course, vanity being foremost, but she'd never been one to turn down help when it would serve her purpose or save her skin.

So instead of pointing out the obvious, that Connor wouldn't be walking out unaided any time soon and run the risk of alienating him all the more, Angel ignored his son and simply tightened his grip. Maybe asking for help was beyond Connor's capabilities, but seeing that he got that help was Angel's duty as his father, had been ever since the night Darla had shown up at the hotel, ready to pop with their child.

__

Sunniest day of the year, he reminded himself as Connor's slight frame slewed unsteadily against him.

"Champion of the Powers."

The Indian priestess' voice made Angel pause and he silently cursed the woman when he felt his son tense in his arms. Hadn't the kid been put through the wringer enough already, without the 'just one more thing' speech?

"The boy's fate has yet to be determined," the Veii told him. "A darkness is approaching, coming for him…and for you. We are done with the boy, but should he choose his path poorly, there are others who will not be so constrained."

Angel hesitated, hearing the warning in her words and shared a look with Wesley. The players could be replaced, rules shifted between that thin, middle line, but the game would always remain the same. A mouth of Hell opening to swallow them all, a minion of evil looking to make itself head honcho of the world, an apocalypse on the cusp of the horizon. Some things would never change.

Yet neither would Angel, an ever vigilant, immortal guardian, ready and willing to kick back down whatever was currently peeping over the edge of the abyss. The eternal fight was his cross to bear, but he knew he'd never have to shoulder it alone. Glancing at Wesley, Angel knew he had friends, _good _friends that no matter their history, when things got tough he could count on them to be at his side. And, one day, he knew he'd find Connor there as well.

*****

Leaving the Veii's place of power, their progress slowed by Connor's injuries, Angel could hear the priestesses as they passed their judgements back at the temple. He longed to simply gather his son into his arms and leave as quickly as possible, yet another part wanted to hear that justice had been meted out to those deserving. And he also knew that Connor, with his father's preternatural senses, needed to hear it too.

"Baron, you have acquitted yourself well during this matter," a fluted voice said, faintly. "We do not punish those who have come to seek the light. For your deeds, your unstinting service, you will be rewarded with the gift of freedom."

Angel wondered if he should be aggrieved at that, his ribs still sore where the captain had kicked him, yet something felt right that the man, or demon, or whatever he was, should have come to win his freedom. It would be a long time coming, if ever, that Angel could reap his own such reward, freedom from the demon within, a restoration of his humanity, a life, a love, a family.

"Valenza." And now the voice that spoke was grim, weighing the woman's worth, finding it wanting. "You have brought darkness to this place that is holy. You have betrayed our cause with your selfish purpose."

"I simply wish to be free of this. You can do nothing to me that I have not asked for."

"Then you shall receive what you so desire. You will no longer walk amongst us or call us brethren, but will be banished to the realm of mortals."

"I…"

"And you will come to live as mortals do."

"No!"

"Until the day you perish, as mortals do."

"You murder me! You cannot do this!"

"The judgement is passed."

"I am your sister!" 

"The sentence will be carried out immediately."

"I am your better!"

The silence that followed was deafening and Angel felt Connor tense, turning his head slightly to one side as he struggled to hear.

"Connor," Angel began.

A human wail of such agony, such distress rent the air, echoing down the corridors, loud enough that even Wesley, leading the way, spun round in shock.

It ended so abruptly, so sharply that Angel wondered if they had killed her. Yet somehow, he doubted it, it wasn't their way. "It's over, son," he said, gently, as Connor continued to wait, maybe hoping for something more final. Unsure of what to say next, Angel simply repeated, "It's over."

That seemed to get the boy's attention and Connor blinked, blue eyes grazing Angel's concerned browns before glancing away skittishly. "Good," was all he said.

*****

The broken weeping was the only thing to be heard as the woman crouched in the sand, hands covering her face.

"Valenza," Baron spoke gently, wondering what of her would be left now that she had been stripped of her powers, her beauty, her immortality.

"Leave me," she whimpered, flinching at his touch.

But Baron persisted, raising her chin so he could see her face. Youth was gone, along with the radiance of a Veii, but beneath was something real, more genuine than he could ever have dared to hope for.

Crouching down, he took her face between his hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs as he bent to kiss her imperfect lips.

"Don't," she whispered, pulling away.

But he turned her back, willing her to see into his soul as she had done so many times in their past, urging her to see his honesty, his desire. And when she faltered, eyes growing wide, he knew that she had.

Rising, he held out a hand and tentatively, Valenza slid her much smaller one into his callused palm. As he led the shattered, stumbling woman from the empty cavern, Baron knew much had changed. No longer would he be her servant, able only to temper her madnesses with soft words of guile. Now he was master, and while the demon inside longed for retribution, punishment for all the years of small humiliations she had inflicted, Baron found he could no more harm her than he could stop himself from loving her.

And sometimes, that was all that was needed.


	15. Epilogue

Author's Notes: Well kids, it's been a fun ride, one that would never have been possible without your support. So as Lorne would say, you've been a great audience and I thank you for it. Take care and on to the final chapter…

Milliecake

*****

The leather reeked of cologne, of dank alleyways, of decay and death and, beneath all else, the faint yet ever-present tang of blood. Slumped forward in the back seat of the car, too bone weary to do little else, Connor catalogued each and every scent that clung to the coat he huddled beneath. With nothing more than those few identifiers, he could track its owner through the streets of the city and beyond, yet long before he had ever followed the sluks through the cracks between dimensions, he had known that unique smell by heart.

It had been the blanket, something so innocuous, that it had taken Daniel Holtz years to recognise his boy had already come to know a piece of his real father through the woollen weaves. The nights in Quor-Toth had been long and cold and that blanket, the only thing Connor could recall possessing since he was very small, had brought a tiny measure of comfort. Curled up in the darkness, shivering from lack of warmth the child Connor had drunk in the many essences contained in the alien cloth, the musky, masculine scents of men other than his father, and one in particular, redolent of flowers and brightness, that made his heart heavy with an untold loss.

The years had passed and the scents of the strangers had faded, coming to reside within Connor's memory alone, dormant until the day he had stepped across worlds and come face to face with his vampire father for the very first time.

"Connor."

Head bowed, he didn't answer, refused even to acknowledge that he had heard his name called.

"Connor," Angel said, again, more persistent. "You ok back there?"

He wouldn't leave it alone, Connor knew, wouldn't quit until he had his answer. "Yes," he ground out shortly in reply, not bothering to raise his head. That would require effort and at this point, he didn't feel like even trying.

Connor sensed Angel's frustration at his lack of response and that almost made him smile. Riling the vampire seemed to give him a perverse kind of pleasure, but not tonight. Too much had happened and Connor was too tired and hurting to play such games.

"Do you think he needs a doctor?"

This from the other man, Wesley, who sat up front with Angel. Connor sensed his concerned regard, yet refused to look up, though he bridled from the humiliation of having them talk about him as though he wasn't there. Like he was an invalid, too weak to make his own decisions.

"He'll heal," Angel replied, briskly, though not without compassion. "Fred can take a look at him when we reach the hotel."

Now Connor's head did jerk up and he bristled, ready for a fight. "I won't go back there," he stated.

Angel didn't even spare him a look as he drove. "You need rest, Connor." Spoken condescendingly, like an adult to an unruly, overly tired child.

Connor clenched his fists and glanced out through the windows to the dark streets beyond. So easily could he slip into those shadows and just…disappear. The thought was appealing, far more so than having to confront Fred and Gunn as Angel dragged him back to the hotel, weak and wounded and unable to defend himself against their smug, sneering looks.

"Don't even think about it," Angel warned from up front, though his eyes had never left the road.

The tension was upped a notch as Connor considered his father, judging how quick the vampire could be, how far it was to the edge of those beckoning shadows. How far his own impaired body would carry him before he collapsed.

He wouldn't stand a chance and to try would only give Angel an excuse to demean him further. As if he hadn't done enough of that already, with his hero's rescue and his false concern, all just some act put on for the others to show what a good father he was.

Connor bit out a curse, one he had heard Holtz utter once in a pique of rage, and flung himself back into the seat, seething in impotent anger.

"I heard that, Connor," Angel said, sternly and Connor mentally drove a stake through his heart.

*****

Later, as they pulled up outside Wesley's tenement block, the hostility between father and son had become an almost tangible presence. The ex-Watcher was keen to make his escape and seek out his bed, certain that once he had closed his eyes were an apocalypse to run its course, it wouldn't awaken him. He had moved to open the door when Angel spoke unexpectedly.

"Wesley."

Hand on the latch, Wesley paused, curious as to what would follow.

"I know things between us have been…strained," Angel began, awkwardly.

Wesley had to stifle a laugh, one that threatened to emerge more bitter than humorous and embarrass them all. "That's one way to put it," he pointed out, instead.

"But I want you to know, you're welcome at the hotel, anytime. What you've done for Connor, and for me, I can't thank you enough."

The vampire's solemn gaze was sincere, the invitation honest and Wesley felt something catch in his throat, preventing the dismissive, offhand reply he had been prepared to utter. He looked away, through the windshield to the lonely parking lot beyond. Lying in the hospital bed months ago, he had dreamed of this, hoped for nothing more than a reconciliation that would allow him to return to the fold, no longer a pariah, no longer a dirty word never to be spoken aloud in polite company.

But so much had changed during his exile. Drinking himself into oblivion, sleeping with Lilah to keep the insomnia at bay, to keep the loneliness from consuming him whole. Justine in a cage.

He wasn't the man he had once been and he wasn't entirely sure himself what he had become. The darkness that resided inside his soul mocked him for his weakness, even as the better, more humble part urged him to accept.

The engine of the convertible continued to tick over steadily, idling with a low rumble that thrummed through the car as they waited.

"Thank you," Wesley told the vampire at last, the only honest answer he could give, "but I won't be returning with you."

He thought he heard Angel sigh, though the sound was too slight for his human hearing. "It's your choice, Wes."

"I know. Goodbye, Angel."

Wesley opened the door and climbed out before he could change his mind, shivering as an icy breeze skipped through the lot, whipping up the leaves on its way through. His world and Angel's would intersect again, of that he had no doubt, and perhaps next time the cards would fall differently. But not tonight.

He watched as the car pulled away, ignoring the cutting wind as he stood in the deserted lot until the red taillights had vanished in the darkness. Caught somewhere between regret and hope, Wesley threaded his way through the cars, heading home. With any luck, Lilah would be waiting for him, eager for the details of his latest venture before she allowed him to claim what he desired most.

Oblivion.

*****

Switching off the engine, Angel sat back in the driver's seat and contemplated the silent, sullen boy in the back. Connor hadn't moved since their earlier altercation, hadn't spoken a word of complaint, or thanks for that matter, but Angel knew he was angry. And hurting.

"We're home," Angel told him, from lack of anything more substantial to say.

Connor turned his head to give his father a familiar glare. "_Your _home," he corrected, folding his arms in a gesture Angel recognised all too well.

"_Our _home," Angel retorted, then felt like an idiot. They weren't in the schoolyard now and he was supposed to be the adult here. "Look, I know you're in a lot of pain right now, but…"

"You don't know anything," Connor grated out, stubbornly and Angel heaved an impatient sigh.

"Right. Fine," he said, shortly. "I don't know anything Connor. So why don't you enlighten me, huh? Why don't you want to go into the hotel?"

Connor shifted uncomfortably as Angel stared hard at his reflection in the mirror, knowing the kid couldn't see him looking but could no doubt sense his determination to have an answer.

"They hate me."

Spoken almost too softly, Angel caught the words nonetheless, the hollow loneliness hidden carefully within and his irritation with the kid instantly fled. Gunn had told Angel most of what had happened before his return, how Fred had taken Connor under her wing, smothering the kid with some much needed love and care. How Gunn himself had tried to connect with the boy, taking him out vamp hunting, cruising the streets, teaching him the not-so-finer points of wine, women and song.

Until daddy had returned from his sojourn to the bottom of the ocean to ruin the little family they had formed in his absence.

"Connor, they don't hate you," Angel replied, praying it was the truth.

But Connor was a sharp kid, heard the doubt. "Yes, they do."

"No, they…" Angel paused, took a deep breath. Schoolyard, he reminded himself. Not in one. "Just, give them a chance, Connor." Adding, more hopefully, "they might just surprise you."

*****

"I see you found the patricidal spawn of evil then."

Fred glanced up from the computer at Gunn's remark, eyes widening in surprise as Angel entered the hotel lobby, a worn and battered Connor trailing reluctantly after.

"See, I told you," Connor said quietly to Angel as the vampire glared at Gunn.

"What happened?" Fred demanded, shocked at both father and son's ragged appearance, sliding off the stool to greet them.

Connor continued to shadow his father, refusing to meet either her or Gunn's eyes. In fact, it seemed like he wanted nothing more than to walk right back out, except Fred somehow doubted it would be under his own steam. A bruise was trailing up one pale cheekbone and though she couldn't even begin to guess what injuries might be hidden beneath Angel's leather coat, he looked good and ready to drop at any moment.

"I'll get the medical supplies," she offered, and Angel gave her a grateful look as she disappeared into the office.

"So did the Powers That Sit On Their Behinds finally pull their finger out of their…?"

"Gunn." Angel's voice held some kind of warning.

"I'm just asking," Gunn said, lightly. "So what happened to boy wonder here?"

"Why do you care?" Connor's tone was antagonistic, hostile.

"What makes you think I do?"

"Enough!" Angel snapped, sounding like he was quickly approaching the end of his tether. "Both of you."

"Found it!" Fred called, briskly, hoping to avert a more serious confrontation, and wound her way back into the lobby carrying the well-stocked, oft used medical kit.

Connor was seated on the couch, wincing as he began to remove Angel's coat, his movements stiff and stilted and Fred found herself reacting on instinct, reaching forward to help. Connor flinched from her touch, giving her a baleful look that warned her not to try it again or there would be consequences.

"Connor," Angel reprimanded sharply, placing a hard hand on his son's shoulder.

"I…it's alright," Fred said, flashing him a small, tight smile, as she backed off.

Connor's reaction was hardly unexpected given their last encounter. Coming to him in the guise of someone who empathised with his plight, she'd shoved a taser into his chest long enough and hard enough to knock him out. Gunn had called it a pre-emptive strike, but Fred knew better. It had been revenge, pure and simple, a way to lash out at the object of her hatred, her fury at being duped, made a fool of for those three summer months.

She glanced at Connor, who was still watching her warily from beneath a fringe that desperately needed cutting. He knew the truth of what had happened that night and she felt somewhat ashamed for it. Not a lot, but some.

She handed Angel the medical kit, knowing Connor would never let her near him again. In a way it was funny. He was the superbeing with the superstrength and the superspeed and she was just small, insignificant Winifred Burkle. Yet Connor was the one afraid. "Here. I think it would be better if you did it, Angel."

"Either that or we muzzle him."

"Just try it," Connor snarled, glowering at Gunn.

"Is that an invitation Junior? Cause I'd be more than happy to…"

"Charles," Fred said, touching Gunn's arm, interrupting his goading. "This isn't helping."

"No, it's not," Angel agreed, stepping between them. He raised a hand to rub wearily at the back his neck, sparing Connor a glance as he did so. "Look, we're all tired. Why don't you two get some rest? I can take care of Connor."

"I can take care of myself!"

"We'll talk in the morning," Angel promised the others, ignoring his son.

"Ok," Gunn relented, allowing Fred to tug him a few paces away, before calling, "Just don't let him near any sharp objects."

"Blunt will do just fine," they all heard Connor mutter.

There was a moment of silence and Angel raised his eyes heavenward in a 'god give me patience' gesture, before reaching for his son. "Come on, we'll do this upstairs."

Fred kept her hand on her lover's arm until Angel had taken his son out of sight, though she could still hear Connor's protest that he was capable of looking after himself.

"You think Angel will let the kid stay?" Gunn wondered, sounding not at all pleased at the prospect.

Fred considered it, then dismissed the notion. It had been a long night spent doing nothing but fretting and the last thing she wanted was yet another discussion about Connor and his misdeeds.

She ran her hand the length of Gunn's arm, satisfied when he turned to look down at her in surprise. "If he does," she told him, "I know an apartment that's just become available."

He cocked a suspicious eyebrow. "It wouldn't happen to have its very own resident ghost would it? Besides, would you really want to leave Angel alone with Connor? Kid's already tried once to bump off daddy. He might try it again."

Fred sighed and laid her head against his chest, snuggling contentedly closer as Gunn's arms came around her. "Angel won't let that happen," she murmured, though a kernel of doubt remained. She glanced up at the landing, wishing somehow that she had vampire hearing, wondering what they were talking about.

Gunn followed her gaze. "I just hope he gets a choice."

*****

Reluctantly crossing the threshold of the tiny bedroom, it was a painful reminder to see everything just the way he had left it. Connor had never expected to find himself back again after the night he had hastily gathered up his scant possessions, desperate to be gone from the hotel before Fred or Gunn could catch up with him to yell some more. Or for Angel to give another speech.

The bed hadn't been remade, he noted, as he sank down onto the mattress, the blanket still rumpled from where he had been left writhing in agony after Fred's attack. Probably no one had thought to, no one had expected him to return, himself least of all.

Grasping the hem of his ripped shirt, he dragged it over his head, wincing at the pull of the wounds across his back, yet mourning the loss of the garment more. It had been the one Sunny had given to him, the night she had shared her food and her home and her lips, before…

"Dammit, Connor," Angel said, breaking into his reverie. The vampire knelt before him and took the shirt out of his hands, tossing it one side. "I was going to cut that off you."

Connor shrugged, uneasy with his father's closeness, the way Angel kept trying to catch his eye. Probably looking for an excuse to stare him down. "Doesn't matter."

"Yes. It does," Angel countered, firmly. "You don't need to keep hurting like this, Connor." Then more gentler, "You don't need to be alone in this. I'm here."

"For now," Connor said, without thinking.

"For ever," Angel shot back without a pause.

Connor looked down, fidgeting and uncomfortable, trying to dig out the not so imaginary dirt from beneath his nails. A cold hand covered his own, stilling the restless play of his fingers and he glanced up.

"Don't shut me out, Connor," Angel pleaded, quietly. "I know you're confused right now, about us, about…where we stand. To be honest, I'm not sure myself."

The admission took Connor by surprise and served only to heighten his bewilderment. After Angel had thrown him out, it had all been so simple, so clear. No one had wanted him, Angel least of all, but now that he had returned, it seemed not even that much was certain.

"But there's one thing I do know," Angel continued.

He was holding both of Connor's hands between his own now, the chill of his flesh leeching out the warmth, but Connor ignored it as he awaited the vampire's next words.

"We're family. And when the day is over, Connor, that's all that really matters in this world."

Family. Holtz had been his family once, had been his entire world and Connor would have done anything for him, the dutiful son. Until he'd betrayed that devotion, had used it and twisted it to form a revenge so pure that it would reach out from the grave and beyond.

And in doing so had turned Connor against a father who might never have betrayed his trust, might never have used his love against his child for his own, selfish ends.

"You're my son," Angel was saying, seemingly oblivious to Connor's inner turmoil. "And…I love you."

Once, those words would have been shocking, a revelation, but not anymore. And why was it that everyone who claimed to love him eventually ended up hurting him, turning against him? Holtz, Angel, Fred and Gunn. Cordelia had been the exception, but then she had left without a goodbye, something that had wounded Connor more than he cared to admit.

Letting the words wash over him untouched, Connor allowed a small, hard shiver to rack his body, knowing the vampire would notice and fall for the ploy.

"You're cold," Angel said, on cue, then jerked back his hands as if stung. "And I'm making it worse. Why didn't you say something?"

Connor shrugged, one shouldered, uncaring.

"I'll get some warm blankets," Angel said as he climbed to his feet. "Then we can a look at those cuts."

"Fine," Connor said, as his father left.

For a long moment, he stared rigidly ahead, allowing the fantasy Angel had woven so skilfully to play out before his mind's eyes. A father who cared for him, a place to call home, warmth and love in abundance to blot out the harsh world beyond.

Connor smiled and shook his head bitterly. No matter what Angel said, those things were not for him, not anymore.

"Here we go," Angel said, blithely, a while later as he re-entered the small room. His arms were filled with what seemed an overabundance of blankets, before dumping them at the bottom of the bed. "Now, let's see what damage they did to you son."

Tugging at the corner of one of the blankets, Connor steeled himself against the pain to come, against his father's overly gentle ministrations. And most of all, against Angel himself.

*****

One by one, the stars began to twinkle out, snuffed like candles before the onset of dawn and Angel stepped back from the window and the lightening sky beyond to regard his sleeping child. Sprawled on his front, Connor was oblivious to his father's silent vigil and hadn't even stirred when Angel had arisen from the chair at the bedside to stretch out the kinks in his back.

Though a part of Angel longed to believe it was Connor's trust in his father that allowed him to remain sleeping throughout, exhaustion was the most likely culprit. The kidnappers had done a number on his kid, that much was certain, withholding food and water, claw marks down Connor's back, the faint yet no less painful burns on his arms and chest. If it hadn't already been taken care of, Angel would have been only too happy to seek out the woman and repay her in kind.

Retaking his seat with a care not to make any noise, Angel stared down at Connor's smooth features. Like many people when they slept, the child within had become apparent, reminding Angel that though his son might possess skills beyond those of normal humans, he was still little more than a boy, with all the arrogance and vulnerabilities that came with youth. With every fibre in his being Angel was determined to protect him, if only Connor would give him a chance.

Another chance, Angel amended, recalling the night at the bar after Cordelia's vision, saving Justine's life, fighting vamps side by side. The shadow boxing and play fight out in the alley after. The way Connor had smiled and laughed, how they'd both allowed themselves to just have a little fun, and in doing so had rediscovered the connection formed the night Connor was born.

Holtz had managed to snap that connection with his suicide by proxy, but perhaps it wasn't entirely irreparable. Angel had to hope that was true, if he was ever to some day win back his son.

A noise alerted him and Angel shook himself from his thoughts to find Connor in the throes of some sudden nightmare. Oh the kid was quiet, but the signs were there, in the tiny frown, the twist of fingers in the bedsheets, the rapid flickering behind closed eyelids that had only a moment before been restful. The accelerated sound of his heartbeat.

"It's ok," Angel attempted to soothe. "Connor, you're safe."

When the sound of his voice failed to calm Angel reached for Connor's shoulder, forgetting in his haste to give comfort how cold his touch could be to a living thing.

Instantly, Connor's eyes snapped open and he had half rolled away before the startlement faded, to be replaced with a new kind of wariness. Angel held up his hands, palms outward, to show he meant no harm, cursing himself for waking the kid when he so desperately needed the rest.

"Sorry," Angel apologised as Connor dragged a hand across his eyes, trying to wake himself up. Then added, "You were having a nightmare."

He left it open ended, hoping Connor might talk to him, share whatever it was that had disturbed his sleep. But he was to be disappointed.

"It was nothing," Connor replied, dismissive, pulling himself upright.

And there were so many possible causes of such a nightmare that Angel could even begin to guess them all by himself. From the demons of Quor-Toth, to finding Holtz's body, supposedly killed by the father he had come to trust, to his most recent incarceration and torture at the hands of people meant to be the good guys.

They sat quietly for a little while, until Connor started to fidget, a sign Angel had come to recognise as discomfort. His son hadn't been around people long enough to disguise his body language, probably didn't even realise what he was giving away with his restless movements.

"Are you hungry?" Angel asked him, hoping to maybe bribe a little co-operation out of him. "I can get you something to eat from the kitchen."

Connor appeared to consider his offer, then nodded.

"Ok then," Angel said, rising, eager to be able to do something practical, to see to the kid's needs. "I'll just…I'll go get something."

As he left the room, he heard Connor call, "No tomatoes!" and found himself smiling.

Fred and Gunn weren't yet up, unsurprising since it had been only a few hours since he'd returned with Connor in tow, and he was oddly grateful to have this time alone and uninterrupted with his son.

Angel set about in the unfamiliar kitchen, preparing a couple of sandwiches and a glass of milk. Kid needs his calcium, he told himself. He passed on the blood though his own hunger pangs were acute. He didn't want to gross out his son while he was eating.

Gathering it all together on a tray, careful not to spill the milk, he returned to the room. Connor's room, Angel reminded himself. He'd speak to his son about that, after breakfast and after Connor had more sleep. There was no need for his son to continue living in the dump above the museum. Unsurprising that he'd chosen that place, though, what with the vista from the uppermost windows. Darla had always loved a view, Angel reflected, as he bumped the door inwards with one hip.

"Connor, I made sandwiches, but I didn't know if you…" He fell silent as he regarded the scene before him.

The bed was empty, the sheets kicked back, the window opened to its fullest extent and Angel felt something inside crumple beneath the evidence that his son had fled. Placing the tray down on the bed lest he throw it against the wall, he moved over to the window and glanced out, seeing nothing but the occasional car speeding passed.

"Be safe, son," he murmured, ignoring the warning prickle against his skin as the sky above began to brighten, the darkness waning and slowly, he drew the window closed.

THE END


End file.
